


Spies and Lies

by 1MissMolly



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Guilt, Kidnapping, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mention of off screen rape, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers for Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 63,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1MissMolly/pseuds/1MissMolly
Summary: 'If this some expression of familiar sentiment?’ Lady Smallwood asked.‘Don’t be absurd, I’m not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion. You know what happened to the other one.' Mycroft assured her. So what happen to the other Holmes brother? Bond is sent to track down a hacker and Sherlock is searching for the new Consulting Criminal. They may find they are after the same person.





	1. Chapter 1

Bond stood in the waiting room just outside M’s office. The rain was falling steadily outside the window as the grey sky streaked in the raindrops sliding down the glass. M’s new secretary typed rapidly on her keyboard, ignoring the staring operative. James twisted his wrist and looked at his Omega watch.

“I was told fourteen hundred.” He said blankly to the woman. It was half past two already.

“She is busy with an official from Whitehall.” The woman said not looking up from her typing. M had purposefully hired a woman in her late fifties to be her secretary in hopes the maturity would deter interference from operatives and the Double ‘O’s who were masters at manipulation.

“I could always return later.” Bond offered. Waiting was not one of his better skills, although the one that seemed to be employed quite often.

“She said she would speak to you when she is ready. Try reading a magazine.” The woman glanced up and gave an indifferent smile.

If Bond wasn’t sure it would end badly with a reprimand from M, he would have tried flirting with the woman to get out of the meeting.

M’s door opened and Tanner stepped out.

“She is ready to see you.” Tanner held the door open and waved Bond into the private office.

The woman sat at her desk, a file folder in her hands as she read the report. The man from Whitehall was standing by the window looking out at the rain. His back was to Bond, but the agent had the distinct feeling he was being scrutinized by him.

“Bond, sit down.” M said. Her bright blue eyes shining out over the top of the folder. “We have a mission for you in Paris.”

The corner of James’ lips curled slightly, then slipped back into place. He opened his jacket button and sat down, purposely placing his back to the stranger in the room. Tanner sat in the chair beside him and handed over a file folder.

“You are familiar with a man by the name of Viktor Zokas.” Tanner said.

“Known internationally as Renard. Terrorist, arms dealer, involved with kidnapping and extortion. Former KGB agent.” Bond recited the information he remembered about the man.

“He is presently in Paris. We have discovered he is trying to contact a man by the name of Robert Frobisher.”

Bond thumbed through the file. There were photos of Renard and of several other members of Renard’s terrorist group including Renard’s mistress, Elecka King, but none of the photos were marked Frobisher.

“Before you ask, Mister Bond, no, we do not have a photo of the individual in question.” The man at window said. The man turned and stepped closer to M’s desk, looking down at Bond. “The individual known as Frobisher came into existence only six years ago. We believe Frobisher may be a very dangerous person.”

“If he is involved with Renard, then he is dangerous.” Bond said coolly. “Mister . . . ?”

“Holmes, Mycroft Holmes.” The stranger said.

“Mister Holmes is from Whitehall. He has commissioned us with finding a hacker.” M explained.

“And Frobisher is this hacker?” James asked unimpressed.

“We are unsure. The individual we are searching for is very good at concealing his true identity. That is what makes us concerned that this Frobisher maybe the hacker known as Query.”

James had heard that name before. Query had be responsible for hacking into the most secure networks in the world. He had obtained secrets from NSA as well as the FSB. Bond knew the hacker had been in MI6’s servers before anyone knew the firewalls were breached.

“You seemed doubtful.” Bond commented.

“There are presently three separate hunts in progress for Query. The Americans believe he is in Maryland, and are sending a team in to find him there. They feel certain they will have him in custody in a matter of days. There is an individual in Munich who the Germans are hunting. We have identified two other people who could be responsible. Frobisher, in Paris, as well as a hacker in Saint Petersburg.”

“The FSB has not been notified by us because of the connection between the hacks to American political parties and the Russian government. We are sending 006 to Saint Petersburg to capture that one.” Tanner said.

“That leave me to track down this Frobisher before Renard gets to him.”

“Correct.” Holmes said. “Get to him and bring him back to London, where he will be questioned and we can assess whether or not he is Query.”

“What does Renard want from Frobisher?” Bond asked setting the file back down on the desk.

“We are not certain, but it may have something to do the incident last month.” Holmes said looking away from Bond.

Bond thought back of the last month if there had been any major news item that would have been of significance to a hacker. The only thing he could think of had to do with television networks.

“Moriarty?” Bond asked.

Holmes let a smile cross his face briefly before turning to M. “I am so happy to see that you have chosen an operative who seemed to be more intelligent than your normal blunt instruments.”

“Oh, he is most definitely a blunt instrument, but he is smart enough to have lasted quite a long time as a Double ‘O’.” M smiled at Holmes.

Holmes sigh dramatically then turned back to Bond.

“Whomever is responsible for the broadcast was able to hack into numerous networks simultaneously and insert the video and the command. They did not see the need to hide the hack but they were very clever in eluding any trace back to them. It was quite . . . remarkable. We are not positive of the individual responsible but we feel the situation fits into the modus operandi of Query.”

“Moriarty hired Query to hijack the television feeds?” Bond asked.

Holmes glanced at the three other people in the room. He seemed to be weighing his options. When he had made a decision he made a quick nod of his head to himself.

“James Moriarty is dead. He killed himself on the rooftop of St. Bartholomew Hospital four years ago. The broadcast was a fake. Once we have Query, then we will know who created the fake.”

Bond nodded his head.

“So how am I supposed to find Frobisher before Renard?” Bond asked.

“You probably won’t.” M said. “We want you for follow Renard to Frobisher then eliminate Renard and bring the Frobisher in.”

It sounded simple. Shame it wouldn’t be, Bond thought.

~Q~

 

John Watson sat in the chair watching his friend as he searched the internet. Sherlock looked tired. Dark smudges under his eyes made his skin seem even paler than normal. Sherlock’s lips were chapped looking and he kept licking at them.

“Do you need to pack anything?” John asked wondering how long Sherlock would be away this time.

“Ah . . . no. No need to.” Sherlock hummed back at John.

John sat quietly watching and regretting. Sherlock was going to leave him again. He was going off to places unknown to chase a ghost and John wasn’t allowed to follow him. Again. Not that he didn’t want to go, but because Sherlock said he couldn’t go. Sherlock didn’t want him. John tried to not think about why that hurt so much.

“Any idea how long this time?” John asked trying to force any emotion from his voice.

“Not long, maybe a month or two.”

“Well, it would nice if you were back for the birth of our daughter. Mary’s due in two months.”

Sherlock paused in his typing and seemed to be staring off to the side. The sunlight was behind him and John had a difficult time actually seeing the details of Sherlock’s face.

“Would you really want me there?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes. Mary and I both want you there.” John said surprised Sherlock would even question the fact.

“I . . . thank you, John. I will try.”

Sherlock returned to his typing. John cleared his throat of emotion and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You said Moriarty was dead.” John started and Sherlock hummed in agreement. “Well, if he is dead, then why are you going after him? I mean it’s over . . . you tore down his network.”

“I tore down the network but the man is still out there.” Sherlock didn’t look up from his typing.

“How can he be dead but still be out there? Sherlock that doesn’t make sense.”

Sherlock paused again and looked at his friend, appearing surprised John was still sitting there.

“Of course he is dead. As was the Abominable Bride.”

“What?”

“Emelia Ricoletti . . . she faked her death to kill her husband but later sacrificed herself so other women could use the ghost of the avenging bride to murder their husbands. It’s the legend that is important. The fear of the avenging specter.”

“Alright, I understand how she killed her husband and how the other women were able to use the legend of the Abominable Bride to get away with murdering their husbands but what does that have to do with Moriarty?” John said trying to follow Sherlock’s line of thought.

“It’s the specter that is important, John. The legend of the individual, not the individual himself. Once the legend is established, the real person is inconsequential.”

“Dread Pirate Roberts.” John said softly.

“Who?”

“The Dread Pirate Roberts. You know . . . from the movie the ‘Princess Bride’.” John said expecting the reference would click in Sherlock’s memory.

“Is that one of the movies you forced me sit through when we lived together?”

“I don’t . . . maybe. And I didn’t force you to sit through any movies!” John argued.

“You most certainly did. Said if I didn’t watch them with you, you would quit fixing my tea.” Sherlock returned to his typing.

“I did nnn . . . maybe I did. But you must remember the movie.”

“Deleted it.”

John sighed and glared at his friend. He raised his hand and rested his temple against two extended fingers. “Alright, I’m getting it now. Moriarty is dead but someone wants to carry on that he is still alive. They want people to be afraid. But why. You destroyed the network. Tore it shreds you said.”

“Yes, Moriarty’s network is gone but in its place there was a vacuum and someone wants to fill it and become the new ‘Consulting Criminal’.”

The implications came rapidly to John. “And the first order of business for the new Consulting Criminal would be to go after the only Consulting Detective.”

Sherlock looked up at his friend. The realizations that both of them were in danger was evident on each other’s face.

“I won’t let anything happen to you or Mary, John. You must trust me.”

“I trust you to protect us, Sherlock. But who will protect you, if I’m not there.” John said leaning forward in his chair.

“I will be fine. I did it alone last time and I can do it alone again.” Sherlock clenched his fist and looked away from his friend. He stood rapidly and started pacing around the flat.

John watched as Sherlock paced. He watched as Sherlock kept opening and closing his fist. He heard the soft mutterings of Sherlock as he started talking to himself. Something felt off for John. Something was odd. He stood up and paused right in front of Sherlock. He friend stop pacing and looked down at the shorter man. That’s when John saw it. He saw it in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Is there a list?” John asked as anger began to take hold.

“What are you talking about? A list for what?”

“A list of the drugs you are on.” John’s voice hardened to growl.

“Why would there be a . . . John, I’m not on anything.”

“Sherlock, you are shaking and sweating. Your pulse to pounding in your neck. Your eyes are fixed and dilated. It appears you haven’t been sleeping and you can’t sit still. Do I have to take you down to Bart’s again? Molly might punch you this time instead of just slapping you. Is there a list?” John voice was getting louder as he began to shout.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. John snatched it from his fingers, reading it quickly.

“Same as before. Just like on the plane. Why, Sherlock? Why the bloody hell, why?” John’s voice took on the quality of the soldier. Lethal and direct.

“I needed to think.”

“This will not help you think, this will kill you. How could you? I was right here. You only need to talk to me. I would have helped you.”

“You can’t go with me, John. You won’t be there when I’m gone.” Sherlock said, almost pleading for his friend to understand.

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, then nodded his head. “You need to stop this new threat. You need to find this new Moriarty. Alright, let’s go.”

“John . . .?”

“You heard me, I’m going with you. You said you would be done in two months maybe less. I will go with you and we stop this person and then we will return for my daughter to be born.”

“But, Mary?”

“Mary would agree with me. Now, tell me where we are going?”

“Saint Petersburg but first we need to stop in Paris.”

“Okay . . .” John glanced around the room for a second. “Unlike you, I will need to pack somethings. You’re coming with me to my flat and we will explain everything to Mary. I will pack and we will leave. Together.”

“John you don’t . . .”

“Yes, I do. I promised your brother I would look after you. And since you insist on behaving like an idiot, apparently I have to go with you to protect you from yourself.”

Sherlock stared at his friend then lowered his eyes. “Thank you, John. I didn’t think I could leave again. I didn’t want to leave you again.”

John just grabbed Sherlock’s elbow and twisted him towards the door. He grabbed the man’s coat and scarf and thrusted them at Sherlock.

“And when we get back home, you are going back into rehab. I will not let you meet your god-daughter half out of your mind on drugs.”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock said meekly.

“Good, just keep saying that and we will get through this in one piece.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond starts his mission in Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates for this story will be slower than my normal stories. RL is very difficult right now. Thanks for all the kudos already. I hope you enjoy the story.

Tristian took a sip of tea as he stared out the window down on to Rue Danielle Casanova. It had been a cold fall but today the sun was shining in the deep blue November sky. The cold air was coming off the window pane and chilled Tristian as he stared down at the traffic. His warm tea mug was clasped between both hands and he tipped it up again for another sip. The sound of the afternoon traffic carried up to the fourth floor flat. The soft hum of the engines and the occasional shriek of a car horn. Along with sound of the servers in the small flat, it created a pleasant white noise that Tristian found comforting.

The flat was in the more expensive portion of Paris fashion district but suited Tristian’s needs perfectly. Its age appealed to Tristian’s aesthetics but the wiring was up to date and the services to the building were first rate. Although the building was noisy with numerous visitors, no one ever thought twice of the young man living on the fourth floor. He appeared to be another waif like model or fashion designer. This portion of Paris was littered with them. Tristian could step out of his flat and walk the streets near the Paris Opera House in complete anonymity. He could live openly while being completely invisible to those around him.

He needed to go out today. He wanted to scope out the meeting site. His partner said he had everything under control, but Tristian had a growing sense of dread. He felt something gnawing at the back of his brain.

He heard the lift humming from the hall. The loud clatter of metal door being opened on the cage. Tristian waited for the sound of a key in the lock and the opening of the front door of his flat. He still wasn’t sure why he had given his partner a key. Now, he wasn’t sure how he was going to get it back.

~Q~

Bond stepped off the elevator. He glanced up and down the hall then at the fob on the room key. The hotel was near the Colonne Vendome. His contacts had said this was where Elektra King was staying. He opened the door to the single room. Not the most luxurious room in the hotel but he wasn’t planning on making this his base of operation.

He tossed his suitcase on the bed and walked over to the window. He had a good view of the open square and the various street cafés and expensive shops around the edge. He knew where she was supposed to be at noon that day and he would wait there to see her contact.

Showering quickly and changing out of his traveling clothes, Bond found himself at a table sipping café Americana ten minutes before Elektra arrived with her bodyguards. James smirked as he watched the two men take up their positions. One was standing by the corner of the building while the other was sitting at a table separate from King. Both were armatures in Bond’s view. They kept their eyes on the woman and not on the crowds around them.

Bond let his trained eyes sweep the strangers sitting at the café and the crowds streaming by. That is when he saw the pair. The tall dark haired man and his shorter friend with the blond hair. They came into the café and took a table near the edge. James admired the tall one’s coat. It was black and heavy. Long straight lines that flared out at the bottom. He envied the man because Bond knew he couldn’t wear a coat like that. His shoulders were too muscular and his chest too broad, the tall man had the thin frame the coat was designed to accentuate. With his black curls and sharp cheekbones, the man looked stunning with the turned up collar. James smiled to himself. Shame he was engaged in a mission. For a brief moment he wonder what an encounter with Mister Cheekbones would be like.

Bond glanced at Elektra King. She, too had noticed Mister Cheekbones. She smiled at the tall man but he did not return her smile. Obviously, he was with his partner, James could tell. James’ assessing eyes moved over the blond sitting with the dark haired man. Shorter but very deceptive in strength. Maybe ex-military. He had the look of someone trained to be very aware of his surroundings. You only get that look if you are familiar with being shot at . . . routinely.

Bond drew his attention away from the two men and back to Elektra King. She was sipping her coffee and looking around at the people walking pass the small café. It was obvious to Bond that she was waiting for someone. He wondered if it was going to be Renard or Frobisher. He order another coffee and waited. After twenty minutes, no one had joined the woman. Bond couldn’t wait any longer and he didn’t want to miss his opportunity. He placed some francs down on the table and stood up. He carefully slipped his wallet back into his pocket and made his way across the pavement towards her table.

Just as he was passing behind her back, he glanced down.

“Oh!?” he said in surprise and bent down.

Elektra King twisted to the see the blond man kneeling beside her. Bond turned and looked up into the woman’s face. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her face was youthful, round and pale. Her large warm brown eyes looked forlornly out at him over round pouty lips. She appeared as a small innocent child-lost and lonely. Instantly, the sense of protection came to him. It took him a moment to remember she was lover of a sadistic killer. She was as lethal as Renard, and her looks just belied that fact.

Pushing down the desire to strangle her, James brought his hand up hold a twenty euro bill.

“Is this yours?” He asked letting his voice drop to a purr.

Elektra King studied him for a moment then laughed softly. “That’s an interesting opening line. Does it work often?”

He returned her smile. “Enough for me to keep using it.”

He easily stood and took the seat next to her at the table. He noticed the guard at the table behind her stand but she waved him off without looking at the man.

“Friends of yours?” James asked eyeing the man carefully.

“Employees . . . so I am not bored with trivialities.”

Bond let his expression relax as he leaned closer.

“Then I will do my best to hold your attention.” He let his hand brush down from her elbow to her wrist.

“And what will you do to hold my attention?!” The distinctively male voice with a British accent spoke behind Bond.

The operative wanted to kick himself. He had allowed the man to approach him without Bond’s knowledge. Bond sat up straighter and twisted slightly so he could put the stranger into his peripheral vision.

“I apologize. I thought the young lady was alone.” Bond said as he slowly stood. He looked the man over carefully. It was not Renard but someone Bond had never seen before. As tall as him with pale blond hair and a scar over his right eyebrow.

The blond stranger growled threateningly under his breath while Elektra laughed again slightly.

“I should thank you . . . Mister . . .?”

“Sterling, Richard Sterling.” He went to reach for his wallet to give her a fake business card.

The man grabbed his wrist and twisted it. James dropped his shoulder feigning fright and giving in quickly to the pain. Bond reached forward and grabbed the man’s forearm.

“I could gut you right here.” The man hissed into James’ ear.

“Sebastian, please. He’s not even worth the time. Besides . . . he’s been kind enough to pay for my coffee.” Elektra held up the twenty euro and waved it.

“Anything for a lady.” James said between clenched teeth. The man let go of his wrist and James stumbled backwards. Faking at being uncoordinated.

“Leave!” The man snapped and James turned to rush from the café.

He finally let his smile slip to his lips as he turned the corner. The tracker he had slipped onto Elektra’s dress sleeve was almost invisible and would relay her location for at least as long as she kept the dress on. There was a second one he had dropped into the man’s coat pocket while his arm was being twisted.

He turned another corner when he was suddenly pushed hard to the wall. Instinct took hold and he swung out before he could catch himself. He was trying to portray the unassuming British tourist. Being able to brawl in a back alley would destroy that portrayal.

The attacker was quick and weaved easily out of the arc of Bond’s punch. But the attacker didn’t retaliate. He just stepped back staring at the blond. Bond took a moment to recognize Mister Cheekbones and his blond friend. The dark haired man was standing in front of James while the shorter military man stood at the entrance of the alley watching the crowds.

“Who are you?” The voice was deep and very upper class British.

“Je ne parle pas anglais.” James said with as heavy an accent as he could create.

Mister Cheekbones rolled his eyes and shoved his hands deep into his coat’s pockets.

“Do I appear to be an idiot?” He said with a huff. James glanced over at the blond then back to the dark haired man.

“Pardon!?”

“Besides the fact that you are wearing Savile Road clothing . . . bespoke suit . . . and very English leather shoes, I saw you speaking. The mouth enunciates differently for certain languages. English verses French. And if you really didn’t understand English, why did Sebastian Moran threaten you in English and not French?”

Bond ducked his chin and stared at the dark haired man. He was more attractive the closer you got to him. At this distance he could see the silvery green eyes that seemed to be almost iridescent as they shifter while the man talked.

“Interpol?” Bond asked wondering if he was going to have interdepartmental squabbling about jurisdiction taking place in a back alley of Paris.

“You’re not Interpol.” Mister Cheekbones said coolly.

“Sherlock, we’ve got company.” The blond said from the end of the alley.

 _‘Sherlock? That’s a unique name’._ Bond thought to himself.

“No are you Interpol?” Bond asked again.

“No . . .”

“Two goons coming our way. They were waved over by the guards. Sherlock!?” The blond was backing into the alley.

“Until next time, Mister . . .?”

“Bond, Sherlock.” James smiled.

Sherlock grabbed the wrist of his companion and took off running just as the two strangers entered the alley. Bond was just as quick to leave. He didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself. The two strangers never saw Bond as their attention was drawn to the tall man in the black coat fleeing with his shorter friend.

~Q~

John was collapsed in the chair watching as Sherlock kept pacing around the small hotel room. It was a small hotel in a less popular tourist spot in Paris. They had gotten back to the room several hours after the confrontation in the alley with the unknown blond man in the good suit.

“He must have been MI6.” Sherlock muttered.

“Who? The man from the café?” John asked as his eyes darted to a movement in the corner of room. Nothing was there. The hotel room was dingy and had a worrisome smell to it. John kept glancing around expecting to see a rodent or large spider go sneaking across the frayed carpet.

“Yes, of course. Who else would I be talking about?” Sherlock said irritably.

“Sherlock, you’ve been rummaging around in your Mind Palace since we returned to the hotel. I don’t what conversations you have been having in there while you’ve been gone.”

John was wondering if he could convince Sherlock to change hotels. He didn’t exactly mind sleeping with vermin, he just preferred to be armed when doing so. Memories of Afghanistan were flooding back quickly.

“Did you see the way he was dressed? And Omega watch. Of course he was MI6. Probably one of their double ‘O’s.” Sherlock returned to pacing.

“Wait a minute.” John sat up in his chair. “Are you telling me, we were accosting a trained British agent? A trained killer?”

“Wasn’t that just what I said? Do keep up, John. It’s gets tedious having to repeat everything twice.”

“We are in over our heads. We need to return to London. Tonight!” John leaned forward and pointed his finger at the man. “We could have been killed by him and no one would even look into our deaths, Sherlock.”

“John, he was a trained assassin. He was not some ordinary killer. He would not have killed us as long as we didn’t hinder his mission.” Sherlock answered in a condescending tone.

“Which is?” John asked exasperated.

“Well, obviously, he is after Renard.”

“I thought we were after Renard?”

“No, we are after the man who is responsible for hacking into the television feeds in greater London. That person will lead us the new consulting criminal.” Sherlock explained.

“And what if that person is the consulting criminal. What if he wants us to find him here in a foreign country where we have no backup? We can’t call anyone to help us if we get into trouble. Your brother can’t come over the hill to rescue us.”

“I’ve never needed my brother to rescue me.” Sherlock hissed. John rolled his eyes.

“Well, this time you might.”

Sherlock waved the suggestion away and returned to his pacing. John pulled out his mobile and thought a moment about calling Mary. He paused with his fingers over the buttons. He didn’t know what he would say to her. There was really nothing to report. He wasn’t even sure of what he was doing here in Paris except to be here for Sherlock. He sighed and decided to text instead of calling.

_6-11-16 we’re fine. I miss you, love_

He waited a few minutes expecting a text back, but none came. He wondered for a moment if there was a problem and maybe he should call, then he decided against it. Even if Mary needed him, John doubted he would leave Sherlock now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta so if there are any glaring mistakes, please let me know. Comments are enjoyed. Thank you.


	3. Chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond goes to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I have started a convoluted story with several people coming into it at different angles. It will be a slow build and not everyone is who you think they are. Please just stay along for the ride. It will be a slow climb but I hope you will enjoy it.

Tristian heard the key slip into the lock of the front door. The tumblers clicked and he heard the door open. Tristian had been sitting at his desk working on a new code for hacking into the Chinese Secret Service. The door slam open and hit against the wall. Tristian froze as his fingers hovered over the keys.

“Well, that was a complete fuck up!” Moran shouted as he slammed the door closed. Tristian hoped the neighbors were either gone for the day or still so hungover from the night before, they were sleeping through the yelling. Moran marched into the room where the young man was working. He steamed past Tristian’s desk, his heavy boots pounding the wooden floors. “That bitch, King, was talking up some British agent.”

Tristian pulled his hands back and set them in his lap. “Are you sure?”

“My men followed him into an alley. He was meeting with two other men. The idiots let them get away. I kicked their bollocks for that.” Moran growled.

Tristian pushed back from the desk and started to pace himself. Moran caught the change in the young man attitude.

“Describe the men.” Tristian ordered. His body tense as he walked around the room

“Three of them. I didn’t see two of them. But the one I did see was blond. Six foot, blue eyes. Expensive suit. Gordon didn’t get a good look at the other two, just one blond and the other, dark haired.”

“Height? Nationality?”

“The one I saw was British, the other two we don’t know. Why? Do you think you know them?” Moran asked as he stepped closer.

“Maybe . . . I don’t believe they would think to look for me here.” Tristian said mostly to himself.

“Robert?” Moran knew the young man as Robert Frobisher but he was certain that name was fake. Once when he was scavenging through the young man’s belongings, he found three other passports with different names. One Russian, one American and one French. The young man spoke with a British accent but Moran had also heard him speak fluently in Russian and German.

Tristian looked up at the former soldier. Sebastian Moran was a big man. Over six feet tall with straw colored hair. A dark tan from years of military service that would not fade with time. His eyes were a watery grey and a scar from a bullet graze marred the skin over his right eyebrow. Some would say he was handsome but he carried an air of menace that frightened people. Like that of a tiger hunting a deer.

“Robert, when are you going to trust me?”

“I don’t know what you mean. Aren’t we partners?” Tristian blinked his eyes, afraid of what the man was going to say.

“Not the way I want us to be.” Moran had made his interest known to the young man. “I don’t even know your real name.”

Tristian paused and stared at the man. “Why would you believe it is not Frobisher?”

“I’m not a fool . . . tell me your real name.”

Tristian turned away and returned to pacing around the room. He looked down at his computer for moment. His fingers twitched, wanting to return to the feel of the keys.

“My real name is forgotten. No one knows it. That person is long dead. He was murdered by his brother.”

Moran took three quick steps towards the young man, wrapping his arm around Tristian’s waist. He pushed Tristian back and crowded him up to the wall. “Don’t ever say that. Don’t ever talk about your death.”

“Seb, who I was . . . why I became Query is irrelevant. That person is gone. Robert Frobisher is who I am now.”

Moran leaned in as Tristian tried to move back but was trapped by the wall. He could see the lust in the grey eyes. It was frightening.

“Is it Robert or Pierre DuPont or the Russian?”

Tristian could smell the man’s breathe. Coffee and cigarettes. He could feel his heart rate begin to beat faster. He’d been trapped like this before. Moran shouldn’t have known about the other identities. There were Tristian’s safe guard in case he ever needed to flee.

“You’ve been through my things . . .” It wasn’t an accusation but a statement of fact.

“Robert . . .”

He pushed even closer and Tristian turned his face away before Moran could kiss him. The blond stopped and stared at the long pale neck and dark mass of curls. The sweep of Tristian’s jaw line and the birthmark low on his left cheek.

“If you don’t want to call me Robert, then call me Q.” Tristian said looking away.

“Q? Honestly? What is it? I know you’re gay. You know I will be good to you. I want to take care of you.” Moran whispered before he leaned in and dragged his nose up Tristian’s neck and burying it in the young man’s hair. Moran took a deep breath, enjoying the boy’s scent of oranges and tea. There was the trace of mint and maybe cigarettes. “I could make you feel so good.”

“Please, stop.” Tristian shivered.

Moran mistook it for interest. He stepped closer and pushed his body into Tristian’s.

“We could rule everything . . . like kings.” His lips pressed a warm wet kiss to Tristian’s neck.

The young man panicked and suddenly lashed out. He brought his hands up and pushed them hard into Moran’s chest. He bent his knee and swung it up fast but Moran was quick and saw the attack coming. He stepped to the side and caught Tristian’s knee in his meaty thigh. Moran grabbed the young man’s wrists and pinned them over his head.

Tristian was panting hard and his heart raced. His eyeglasses were knocked crooked on his flushed face. Trapped now as Moran leaned his body into Tristian’s, pinning him to the wall. Moran took the advantaged and smeared his lips across Tristian’s. It was messy and crude. The blond dipped down and started nipping at Tristian’s pale neck.

“Moran! Stop!” Tristian shouted. The soldier stilled. The young man could feel the other man’s hardened length rubbing into his thigh. Tristian tried to slow his breathing down and calm himself. “Let go of me.”

“Why . . .” Moran sneered at the young man.

“Let go of me because I asked you too.” Tristian said a coolly as he could. “Unless you plan on killing me, you should know it would be better to let me go now.”

Moran stared at the man for moment. Then he let a big smile come to his face as he stepped back and dropped Tristian’s hands.

“Alright . . . for now . . . but soon I’ll convince you. I won’t kiss you again until you ask me, but you will. I promise.” Moran took another step back. His eyes locked on the deepening red mark he left on Tristian’s neck. “So it is Q now. Alright, Q. We have a meeting with Renard and King tonight. Are you ready for it?”

Tristian took a deep breath and pushed himself off the wall. He stepped around the soldier and out into the open space of the room.

“Just tell me where and when and I will be ready.”

~Q~

Bond stepped out of the stairwell and into the carpeted hallway. His eyes sweeping the hallway for any dangers. He had located Renard’s and King’s room from the tracker he had place on her. He stole a workman’s coveralls and hat, then took an oversize toolbox with him. Now he was walking down the hall, while talking into a dead walkie-talkie. He was speaking French and acting like a common repairman hired by the hotel. He noticed the same two guards from the café. The bulky men were standing on either side of the door leading into the suite. Their jackets doing little to conceal the holsters and guns beneath. The two men glanced at Bond but quickly demised him. They saw a French workman, not a British tourist from the day before. Bond smirked as he walked passed them.

Bond knew a frontal assault would not work. Even if the men didn’t recognize him, they would slow down his attack and Renard was not someone you could be slow to kill. He followed the hallway around again till he returned to the stairwell. He opened the door and quickly climbed the stairs to the roof. Once outside in the open air, he glanced around to verify he was alone. There was a low wall at the edge of the roof. A small barricade to block anyone accidently walking off and falling. Bond went the side of the roof that was opposite the windows for Renard’s and King’s room.

Bond quickly stripped out of the coveralls, wearing a pair of trousers and a simple jumper underneath. He knelt down behind the low wall and looked over into the suite Renard was in. He could see the two people inside the bedroom. They were walking around. Renard was shouting and King was laughing at him.

Bond opened the toolbox he had been carrying. Inside was the folded down sniper rifle. The scope was already attached to the barrel. He flipped the stock back and locked it into place. He shouldered the rifle and held it tight to his shoulder. His cheek resting upon the stock. Through the lens of the scope, he could see Renard was angry at Elektra. She was smiling and apparently taunting him.

Renard was facing her and she was three-quarter turned away from the window. Renard shouted again and stepped closer to the woman, tuning her so her back was to the window and Renard was now facing it. Bond set the center of the crosshairs on Renard’s forehead. He started to relax his body and measure his breaths. In and out, in and out. In and hold. He pulled the trigger.

Renard had just glanced up when he saw the flash of the muzzle. He reached up to grab Elektra as the glass broke and the bullet went through her skull and into his. The rifle did not even make a loud report. Only the soft slap from the suppressor. The only other sound was breaking glass and the two bodies falling to the floor.

Bond was moving even before Renard’s guards had entered the room. The operative was rushing down the outside fire escape and climbing into a window of an empty hotel room before the guards determined the shot came from the opposite roof. Bond quickly dismantled the rifle and slipped it into a collapsible bag. When he stepped out of the room and into the hallway, he looked like any other tourist carrying a simple black backpack. He took the lift down to his floor. He grabbed his suitcase and heading out of the lobby just as the [Sûreté](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C3%BBret%C3%A9) pulled up, out front of the hotel.

The tracker he had placed on the other man was still working. It placed the blond with the scar over his eyebrow at a building just off Rue Danielle Casanova. The man Bond had seen speaking to King didn’t look like a computer hacker, but who was to say. He would go and follow the blond. If he wasn’t Robert Frobisher, he would know where to find the hacker. Then Bond would deal with that man just as deftly as he had with the terrorist.

~Q~

Sherlock and John arrived at the hotel just as a body was being loaded into the Médicale Examinateur van. A single black bag. When they stepped through the door of hotel and into the lobby, they saw the concierge speaking animatedly with a member of the Police Nationale. The officer dressed in a dark blue uniform seemed unimpressed by the man’s excited words.

Sherlock’s eyes swept the room until they landed on an unassuming man in his late forties. He was short with a receding black hair. His very round face was slightly pudgy with a thin emaciated mustache. Sherlock marched over to the man with John quickly on his heels.

“Peter.” Sherlock said softly as he turned away from the man and returned to watching the officer and the concierge argue.

“Sigerson.” The short man said with an exaggerated accent. “Upstairs. I can give you three minutes.”

The short man turned and walked swiftly towards the lift. The other two men followed. As the door open on the lift, the small French man entered but he paused when he saw John following them. He put his hand up glancing back and forth between Sherlock and John.

“Who are you?”

“He’s my assistant.” Sherlock said calmly.

“Associate.” John quickly corrected.

The balding Frenchman refused to let them enter the lift.

“Sigerson, I can barely let you into the room. I do not know about . . .” He waved his hand at John.

“He is a doctor. I’ve worked with him before. You can trust him. Believe me.” Sherlock said rapidly as he pushed himself into the compartment.

John was still outside the lift as Peter, the Frenchman, looked the doctor over carefully. The shorter man shrugged his shoulders and let John follow them. The lift carried them to the top floor. There were police moving up and down the hallway and walking in and out of the hotel suite. As they stepped off the lift, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Peter, who is the idiot in charge of this fiasco?”

“Sigerson, please. It is Reno.”

Sherlock sighed dramatically and John feared this was going to be another Donavan type officer. Peter walked the two men into the hotel suite. John noticed the doors of the suite had been damaged. Like someone had opened them too aggressively and broken the knobs. There were at least of dozen members of the Police Nationale in the large suite. John couldn’t tell how many rooms but they were in an elegant sitting room with two matching couches.

They followed Peter into a bedroom that led off the sitting room. There was a large ornate bed with a gold gilt headboard and deep purple bedding. The furnishings in the room were French Regency and antique. It was opulent but yet tasteful. The room had large windows that looked out onto a private garden and the other side of the hotel. But the richness of the room was lost on John. His eyes were fixed on the dark red stain on the gold carpet. A tape outline of a body was intersecting the pool of blood.

John stood back as Sherlock quickly circled the stain then glanced around the room. His eyes stopping on the large window that looked out over the garden. John’s eyes followed Sherlock’s to the window and broken glass.

“Sniper?” John asked quietly.

“Obviously. High power. Enough velocity to not veer from its path as it broke the glass, into one person’s skull, out and into another person.”

“Two victims?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said and he moved away from the stain and started studying the walls and floor on the further side of the room.

“Two? What are you talking about, Sigerson?!” Peter came over quickly and started questioning Sherlock.

Sherlock stood and looked confused for a moment. “Yes, two. Two bodies. We saw one being carried out. I’m sure the other one left before we arrived. You should have called me sooner before these idiots ruined the evidence.”

“Sigerson, there was only one body when the [Sûreté](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C3%BBret%C3%A9) arrived. A woman, mid-thirties. Dark hair. Beautiful, I mean she had been beautiful.”

Sherlock looked at the man for moment then moved back over to the stain on the carpet.

“Look . . . look how the blood has pooled. One large spot here where a body laid on it for a while, twenty maybe thirty minutes. Now look here. This second pool. More blood but a different person bleed here. The two pools are connected but see how it looks like an hourglass. A large pool narrowing down to a thin connection then fanning out again.” Sherlock splayed his hand out and waved it over the blood pattern in the carpet as he explained. “Blood doesn’t contract then expand as it is spreading. There was a second body that was bleeding out laying here. Look at the pile of the carpet. You can still barely see the indention the body made. Well, you could have seen it better before your men ruined the evidence.”

“SIGERSON!”

John jumped and reached to the small of his back. His finger slipping around the grip of the Sig. The other police officers in the room were also shocked into silence at the man shouting. Everyone stood perfectly still and alert as the stranger approached.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT MY CRIME SCENE?!” The newcomer shouted again. The man was taller than Sherlock and just as thin. He was completely bald with a large hooked nose over thin unattractive lips. “GET OUT!”

“Just leaving, Reno. No reason to stress yourself into another heart attack.” Sherlock turned rapidly. His dark coat flaring out as he did.

“You are the reason I had that heart attack you bloody . . . bloody interfering bastard!”

John watched as Reno’s face became redder and redder. As a doctor, John could see the man was throwing himself into a fit. Sherlock was already striding out of the crime scene. It took John a moments to realize he was left with the nearly seizing Reno. His medical training taking hold to make him stay and render first aid.

“Come along, John. We have a body to find.” Sherlock shouted as he turned into the hallway.

“Oh . . . yeah . . . Ta.” John said as he repeatedly glanced at Reno. His face changing from a deep red of anger to almost blue.

John rushed out of the suite and caught up with Sherlock at the lift. He kept glancing over his shoulder as he heard Reno shouting at the police officers who remained behind with him. John noticed Peter had snuck out of the room while Reno was shouting. The doors of the lift opened and John and Sherlock stepped inside.

“You have questions.” Sherlock said nonchalantly.

“Ah . . . yeah. Sigerson?” John started with the list of unasked questions.

“The name I used when I was in Paris a year and a half ago. I worked with the DGSI on Moriarty’s French drug network.”

“Peter?”

“The man from the DGSI. We stopped a seventy million euro drug sale.”

John raised his eyebrows surprised by the story. The door opened and the two men stepped out of the lift. Sherlock pulled out his mobile and started texting.

“Peter is some kind of spy?”

“Would you expect a spy to stand out in a crowd? Peter is excellent at blending in. No one would look at him twice.” Sherlock glanced around as they stepped off the life. “Obviously, Renard was also shot but for reason his men removed his body.”

“You think he could still be alive?” John asked.

“The bullet is still in his head. No sign of it at the scene. I doubt our MI6 agent would let the man survive an assassination attempt.” Sherlock quickly read the returned text.

“The man from the café?”

“Of course. I’ve just texted Peter to look for an unidentified body left somewhere in the city with the physical markers of Renard.” Sherlock slipped his mobile into his pocket. “He is very receptive to my suggestions since I convinced him to grow that mustache.”

John sped up and fell into step with Sherlock. “Wait a minute . . . you told him to grow a mustache? But why?”

“He looks better with one. Woman seemed to find them . . . attractive.”

John zipped up his jacket and thinned his lips as they stepped outside of the hotel. “You insisted I should shave mine off.”

“Yes . . . I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos already. You have always been very encouraging.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond tracks down Q.

Moran told Q the meeting with Renard would be at Tuileries Gardens. They stepped out the building on Rue Danielle Casanova and turned to walked towards the gardens. Q tried to keep his eyes focused forward. Moran was beside him and seemed relaxed as they walked, but Q had the feeling that he was being watched. As they turned the corner at the end of the street, Q glanced behind himself but didn’t see anyone who seemed to be looking at them.

“What is it?” Moran asked when he noticed Q pull out his mobile and start fiddling with it.

“Nothing . . . it’s just.” Q glanced around again.

“What?”

“Can we trust Renard?”

Moran continued walking. “No. But he can’t trust us either so we are on equal footing. He needs something that we can sell, we want the money he is willing to give us. It’s a simple transaction not a marriage proposal.”

Q followed into step with the taller man. Q remained by Moran’s side but made sure they did not touch. The younger man still had not forgotten Moran’s advances earlier in the day. He didn’t feel safe around the man but knew he was safer with Moran than without him.

They entered the city park within fifteen minutes of leaving the flat. Q could feel the shift in Moran’s attitude. He was becoming more alert and defensive. The ex-soldier narrowed his eyes and letting them sweep the visitors and the trees. The crowds were thin due to the cold temperatures but there were still many tourist wandering through the lawns and gravel paths.

They reached the area near the meet site. It was just inside the line of trees. There was a bench on the far side of the lawn and very few people around. Moran leaned against an old chestnut tree and looked around to see if there was anyone paying attention to them.

“Okay, we are here. Do your thing.” Moran said.

Q sat on the ground and took out his computer from his messenger bag. He quickly hacked into the CCTV system in the park and set up a video loop of the area. If anyone looked at the camera feeds they would only see the empty bench and the vacant lawn. Next Q search for any traffic cameras or private CCTV that would show this area of the park. He disable them too. Moran stood over Q while the young man worked quickly. Within minutes Q had neutralized every camera and recording device within the general area of where they were. Including mobile phones and anything with a Wi-Fi signal. He turned and glanced up at Moran.

“Twenty minutes, tops.”

“Renard should have been here two minutes ago. He is probably waiting to see if I show up first. I’ll go sit down. Make sure there is no one around watching us.”

Q nodded. Moran looked up then walked forcefully across the lawn towards the green painted bench. He sat down and leaned back. Stiffly, he crossed his legs and tried to look unthreatening. It wasn’t working.

Q was still sitting in the grass. His attention was on his computer and the various video feeds that were showing the area but not being viewed or recorded elsewhere. He still felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Q glanced around for moment but did not see anyone. He was not in the direct line of sight for Moran. They had determined it would best if Renard never saw Q, so he hid in the shadows. Now Q actually wished Moran could see him. He hated Moran but he trusted him more than anyone else at that moment.

Q looked down at the feed. Moran was still sitting on the bench. He was looking at his watch then glanced around the empty area. In the far distance, Q could hear someone laughing. Someone else was shouting in Italian. It was late in the afternoon, almost early evening. The sun would be setting soon and then it would get very cold very quickly. Q hoped the meeting would be over before then. He didn’t know how long he could remain sitting on the chilled ground. Q glanced around again and thought he had seen someone. A silhouette beyond the trees but when his eyes slipped back to where he thought he saw someone, no one was there. Just the bare tree trunks and the bushes with their sparse winter leaves.

Q’s attention returned to the computer. He was watching as a blonde man seemed to waiting near the path they had taken to come into this part of the gardens. The man had been standing there for several minutes. He wasn’t looking around. His attention was focused just beyond the video feed. Q wished he could adjust the feed and try and get a better image of the blond. He appeared to be tall. Tan faced with broad shoulders and a narrow waist.

Q was focused on the man in the video, when the hand came around his mouth and an arm slipped around his shoulders. He was pulled backwards and onto his back. His computer went flying from his lap. It crashed on the ground just a few feet from him. Q felt the press of a gun barrel to his right temple.

“Make a sound and you die right here.”

Q looked up in the sharpest blue eyes he had ever seen.

~Q~

Bond had watched the entrance to the building where the signal from the tracker had come from. He was just before going into the building when he saw the blonde man step out onto the pavement. Beside him was a young man with wild dark hair. If the blond didn’t fit the appearance of a hacker, the young man fit the stereotype perfectly. Bond watched as the two men started off down the pavement towards the river. Bond slipped his aviator sunglasses on and fell into step fifty yards behind them. Keeping a discreet eye on them as they walked.

When they had reached the corner, the younger man paused and looked over his shoulder. Bond turned and looked into the shop window. He waited there for several moments while the young man glanced down at his mobile. Then he watched as they turned and walked away. Bond picked up his pace to catch up to the two of them.

He followed them into the Tuileries Gardens. It was easier to track them there. The crowds were thinner and they were no longer checking around themselves. He watched as the two men went into a secluded portion of the grounds. Just as he thought, the young was computer expert. From his hidden position, he could see the young man take out a laptop computer and sit on the ground. The two men talked for several minutes, one standing and the other sitting. Then the one standing moved off and over to the far side of the secluded lawn.

Bond waited for several minutes before he moved from his position near the bushes. Carefully, he moved around the lawn, keeping to the shadows. He could people laughing in the distance. He kept moving slowly, until he was directly behind the young man. Just as he expected, the man was hidden from the lawn and the blond sitting on the bench. Bond could easily slip right up behind the man without being seen.

The young man seemed to be focused on the computer screen and completely unaware of Bond. He slipped his right hand over the boy’s mouth then jerked him backwards with is left. He pressed his Walther to the man’s head.

“Make a sound and you die right here.” Bond whispered.

The young man looked up at Bond though black rimmed eyeglasses. He looked younger than Bond had expected. Almost too young to be working with a terrorist.

“Are you going to be quiet?”

The young man nodded his head.

“Get up and don’t say a word.” Bond let go the young man’s mouth. He waited for the scream or the cursing, but the young man just stood up slowly. His hazel green eyes focused on the barrel of Bond’s gun.

Bond stepped closer and grabbed the young man’s elbow. He pushed his gun into the brunette’s ribs.

“We are going to walk out of here and get into a taxi. You will not make a scene or I will shoot you.”

“Who are you?”

“Someone willing to kill you.” Bond said coldly.

“Did Renard send you?”

“Renard is dead. I killed him.” That got the response Bond was hoping for. The young man paled and his eyes flew open wider.

Bond took a step to leave, but the young man was still stunned and stumbled. Bond caught him, then wrapped his arm over the young man’s shoulders.

“We are going to walk out of here like two close friends.” The young man nodded his head and fell into step with Bond. “Let me guess, you are Robert Frobisher.”

“How did you . . . Renard?”

“Never spoked to him before I put a bullet into his head.” Bond could feel the young man shake. “Behave yourself and you won’t die today.”

Bond led the two them out of the trees and back onto the broad path with several other people. Q’s had a hard time picking up his feet because he was so frightened. He stumbled again but Bond had hold of him.

“Who are you?”

“Bond, James Bond.”

They walk up to the taxi stand. Bond slipped the gun into his pocket as he reached for the handle on the backdoor. Suddenly, Q was ripped from his grasp as a meaty fist slammed into the side of his face. Bond struggled to remain standing. He spun to see Q fighting with a stranger.

The stranger was tall with blond hair and broad shoulders. He had a square face and ruddy skin. His fist felt like a sledge hammer hitting Bond’s cheek. Bond stumbled back, falling into the side of the taxi. The blonde stranger had hold of Q as the young man shouted.

“LET GO!”

Bond struggled to his feet and lunged forward at the stranger. He wrapped his arms around the stranger’s waist and tackled him. The stranger let go of Q’s arm as the two men fell to the pavement. He started to punch at Bond’s body. Heavy blows from scarred fists, pounded into James’ ribs. Q fought to stay on his feet as a crowd started to circle around the fighting men. The taxi driver even got out of his car to watch. Bond rolled them so the other blond was underneath him. More punches to his sides and Bond grunted in pain. The other blonde was good, he was trained in causing pain. Bond grabbed the man’s head and slammed it hard into the concrete. There was a loud thunk and the stranger went limp underneath Bond.

Bond struggled up onto his feet, wiping the blood from corner of his mouth. He glanced around at the people watching him, till he saw Q. Bond grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the taxi still parked at the kerb. He shoved the driver out of the open car door. Bond pushed Q into the front seat and pushed him over to the passenger side. Bond jumped in behind the wheel.

The driver started shouting in French as he climbed back up to his feet. Bond revved the engine and pulled the taxi out away from the kerb. He crashed the right front bumper into a passing car. The other car’s horn blared as people began to shout and scream. Tires squealed on the asphalt. Bond cranked the wheel over but kept driving. Swiping the side of the stole taxi into another vehicle. The scraping of metal against metal drowned out the shouts from the abandoned driver.

Bond floored the accelerator and the car sped off through the evening traffic. He quickly turned the corner and disappeared into Paris.

~Q~

Moran rushed up to the unconscious blond stranger. Moran glanced around till his eyes landed on the taxi cab speeding off into the traffic. The taxi driver was chasing after his stole car, shouting at it. Moran bent down over the blond stranger who was slowly waking up. Moran looked down at him, then slapped the man’s face hard.

“Wake up!” Moran shouted.

The blonde stranger struggled. Moran slapped him again. The crowds around him began to back away as they saw the violent ex-soldier start to curse.

“I said wake the fuck up!”

“I’m awake, I’m awake!” the stranger said.

“Were is the boy?!” Moran shouted.

“Kidnapped. Same guy from the café. Blonde, British accent.”

“Grant, you were supposed to watch him! How did you let him get away from you!?” Moran growled.

Red Grant propped himself up on his elbows. “I was getting him back when that bastard cracked my head on the pavement!” He ran his hand over the back of his skull and pulled it away, smeared with blood. He turned his hand for Moran to see.

Moran sneered again and stood up straight.

“Let’s go!”

Grant pulled himself up to his feet. He reached over and grabbed Moran’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Now what?”

“We get Frobisher back. He is mine! No one else is to touch that man! No one but me!”

Moran started walking away from the crashed cars and the approaching police.

“What are you going to do?” Grant asked.

“I’m going to get Robert back, then I’m going to gut that other guy.” Moran growled. “Nobody takes what is mine!”

“What about Renard?” Grant struggled to keep up with Moran.

“Fuck that Russian bastard. He didn’t make the meet. I don’t care why. I’m just going to get Robert back.”

Moran and Grant marched out of the gardens and down the street. They missed the fact they were being followed by two men. One was blonde and short, the other was dark haired wearing a black coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be updating the tags before the next chapter. Please check them so no one is surprised.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kidnapping continues. Bond and Q have a rough introduction.

Mycroft was meeting with the trade attaché from the Netherlands. It was a mundane meeting and not of major significance. That is why his assistant, Anthea, felt it was prudent to interrupt the meeting.

“Sir, there has been an incident that requires your attention.”

Mycroft sighed heavily and turned to the man from Rotterdam.

“Will you please excuse me, Jan?”

The man smiled and stood as Mycroft did. Jan watched as Mycroft stepped out of the room and closed the door.

“What has Sherlock done now?” Mycroft asked.

“It is not your brother, sir. Your father had an accident at home. He apparently fell and was taken to hospital. He is alright but the doctors wish to keep him over night for testing.”

Mycroft was moving before Anthea had finished explaining.

“Where is my mother?” He asked.

“She is with him now.”

Within half an hour, Mycroft was walking into the ward of St Bart’s Teaching Hospital. He went to the geriatric floor and waited at the nurse’s station until he could be told where his father was. Anthea had arranged for the elderly Holmes to be placed in a private room. Mycroft opened the door to see his father, asleep in the hospital bed.

The right side of his face was marred with a purplish blue bruise. There was dried blood on his cheek bone. His salt and pepper hair was mussed. And his eyes were dark and hollow looking. He looked fragile in his old age. Mycroft paused for a moment, staring at his father. The man’s vulnerability was overwhelming to his eldest son. Mycroft had never considered his father old before. Never thought of him as weak, but now Timothy Holmes appeared brittle.

Mycroft moved slowly and quietly into the hospital room. He set his briefcase down on the floor by the bed and stared down at his sleeping father. Carefully and hesitantly, Mycroft let his hand slip under his father’s. He gently lifted the hand and cupped it. He stared down at the pale thin skin over the veins and bones. Mycroft dragged his thumb over the back of his father’s hand, watching the shift of the internal structures. Realizing his own mortality, Mycroft gently set the hand down.

“It was the stairs.”

Mycroft twisted to see his mother sitting in the chair near the window. He had not realized she was sitting there when he came into the room. He was remiss that he had let emotions and sentimentality effect his ability to observe.

“The stairs?” Mycroft asked.

“He insisted on carrying our suitcases up to the attic. He fell on the stairs. The doctors said his had a concussion but nothing is broken.”

“Very good.” Mycroft looked back at his father. “If you needed assistance I could have arranged . . .”

“No, Myc. Your father would never hear of it.”

Mycroft sighed dramatically and looked away from his mother. His eyes fell on the table beside the bed. There were two framed photographs sitting there. One was of his father and mother at some family gathering. The picture was old and the two people in it were in their early thirties. They were smiling at each other. It was obvious his parents were very much in love.

The second framed photo was of Mycroft with his two younger brothers. Mycroft was a teenager standing in his neatly pressed school uniform. His two younger brothers were in matching jumpers. Sherlock couldn’t have been more than nine years old. A stern pout on his pale face. Tristian was younger, maybe five. His ears were sticking out from underneath his dark curls. A grey kitten in his arms. Tristian was a happy child. With every frown or glare Sherlock gave, Tristian smiled and laughed.

He was their mother’s favorite and the two older children knew it. Mycroft never admitted to being jealous. That would mean he felt emotions and everyone knew he didn’t. But now, as he stared at the photo from his childhood, he could feel the old twinge of resentment. It was ridiculous. He had no reason to be angry at the little boy smiling out at him from the photo, but the pain was still there.

His mother stepped up beside him and wrapped her hands around his arm, holding him as she looked at the photographs.

“They are your father’s favorite photos.” His mother said seeing what had captured Mycroft’s attention. She sighed. “We should let Sherlock know what has happened. Can you call him?”

“He is out of the county.” Mycroft said turning away from the photos as well as the memories.

“Well, bring him back. We can’t have Tristian here.” His mother’s voice broke and she quickly turned away from the bed, letting her hands drop from Mycroft’s arm. Mycroft watched as she wiped away her tears. “Your father and I miss him so much. He was such a wonderful child.”

Mycroft hardened his expression. He lifted his chin and stretched his neck. “Mummy, please.”

“You don’t know . . . you’ve never had children. You can’t understand how bad it hurts to lose one. To have your child die.” Violet Holmes broke down crying. “Now your father is injured and in hospital and Sherlock is not here. Get him here. Now. I want my boys together.”

Mycroft took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“I will try and locate him. I will bring Sherlock home.”

Mycroft remember a conversation he had had with Lady Smallwood’s assistant. _‘If this some expression of familiar sentiment?’ ‘Don’t be absurd, I’m not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion. You know what happened to the other one.’_

As a matter of fact no one knew what happened to the other one. Mycroft had kept that secret very close. Mycroft realized what he was feeling was not jealousy but guilt. Guilt for having lied to his parents about Tristian Holmes’ death.

~Q~

Bond drove like a mad man through the Paris traffic. He pulled into the car park and stopped next to another vehicle. Bond opened his door then grabbed Q’s arm and pulled him out of the front seat through the driver’s door. Q grunted and tried to pull back. Bond’s gun quickly appeared and was pushed into Q’s side.

“You can either ride in the front seat beside me or in the boot. You decide right now.” Bond hissed. His face deeply bruised now.

Q glared at the man for moment then quit pulling against the man’s grip. He didn’t doubt one minute that the blond would shove him into the boot of the car. The only question seemed to be if he would first put a bullet into Q.

As soon as Bond felt Q give in, he pushed over to the brand new Aston Martin. It’s long low sleek lines made the car seem more alien space craft than motor transportation. Bond retrieved a set of keys from his pocket and opened the passenger door. He pushed Q towards it and the young man ducked his head and slid in. The contoured seat seemed to be perfectly molded for Q’s body. Slowly, Q’s hands moved deliberately over the butter smooth leather and the sleek console.

Bond sat in the driver’s seat and quickly started up the V12 engine. It roared to life, causing the car to actually shake from the force of the 510 horsepower. Q’s eyes widened as he watched the gages on the console start fluctuating as Bond shifted it into gear and pulled out of the carpark. Q quickly snapped his seatbelt into place.

The powerful car was wasted while in the Paris traffic. It needed an open road. Preferably one with numerous curves and turns. Q had seemed to have forgotten the kidnapping and the fight as he watched the gages and the handling of the car as Bond shifted between the gears. It was forty minutes later when Bond pulled up into a parking space in front of the hotel, did Q realize they were no longer in the city.

Bond turned to him. “You will walk in here and say nothing to anyone. If you as much as twitch an eyebrow, I will shoot you.”

Q stared at the coldness in the blue eyes watching him. He slowly nodded his head. The door behind him opened and Q slowly got out. Bond got out and removed the suitcase from the boot. Bond had the two of them checked into the hotel and into their rooms before Q knew where they were.

“Who are you?” Q asked as soon as the door was closed.

“MI6.” Bond said officiously.

“Why have you kidnapped me?”

Bond turned and looked at the younger man. A slight sneer to his lips. “I have been ordered to take you back to London. There are questions you need to answer.”

Bond grabbed the suitcase and set it up on the edge of the bed. Q looked around the suite. It was clean and modern in décor. A low grey couch with silver and gold throw pillows. There was a table with two chairs upholstered in dark purple. And a single double bed.

Bond unzipped the suitcase and grabbed his shaving kit. He started to walk into the bathroom, but his attention was on the young man. He wanted to see what Q would do. The dark haired man waited till Bond was out of sight, then he lunged for the door. Bond was right on top of him as soon as Q’s hand touched the knob.

He pulled the young man back and twisted him till he was facing the wall. Bond grabbed Q’s right hand and twisted it up behind his back. It was painful and the young man cursed.

“Let go of me, you bastard!”

Bond leaned in closer. He grabbed Q’s left hand and pinned to the wall.

“You are a traitor and by all rights I should shoot you.”

“Then fucking shoot me.” Q shouted as he twisted his face to press his cheek to the wall.

Bond could see the young man’s profile clearer. He was not as young as Bond had originally thought. Q had to be in his late twenties instead of the early ones. He was still young and his skin was smooth and pale. Bond let his eyes travel of the sharp lines on the young man’s jaw and his ear barely peeking out under the mess of dark curls. It was the type of hair that Bond would have enjoyed running his fingers through, but he doubted that would be an option given the hostility he was receiving from the other man.

“You acted like you didn’t want to go with that other man. Who was he?”

Q didn’t answer Bond so the blond twisted Q’s right hand up higher, causing more pain. Q hissed and stood up on his tiptoes trying to lessen the strain.

“Grant! Red Grant . . . he works for . . .” Q decided he shouldn’t mention Moran. “He’s a criminal.”

“You are too.” Bond said. He reduced the pressure on Q’s arm. The younger man took a deep breath and relaxed some. “Don’t move.”

Bond let go of Q’s left hand and it remained flat against the wall. Bond dropped his hand down to Q’s hip and pulled it back. Q took two steps back but his face and shoulders were still flush with the wall. Bond’s free hand started to sweep up and down Q’s sides and across the back of the man’s trousers.

“Don’t you think if I had a gun I would have used it by now?” Q said.

“Maybe the excitement made you forget about what you had hidden on your body.” Bond reached over to the front of Q’s trousers and patted his pockets. Bond reached in and pulled out Q’s mobile. He glanced at it then tossed it on the bed. He leaned in and pushed his hand deep into Q’s pocket and felt around.

“Are you frisking me or is this your idea of foreplay.”

Bond froze for a second, then he quickly let go of Q’s right hand. Spinning the young man around, Bond caught both of Q’s wrists and pinned them over his head. He stepped closer and stared into Q’s hazel eyes.

A sudden electrical charge of adrenaline surged through Q’s body as he was held under those icy blue eyes. He could feel the power and danger of the man holding him. The fact that the blonde was familiar with pain, both receiving and giving. Q stared at the emotionless mask in front of him but Q could tell this man was not a machine. There was passion and determination hidden in those eyes. Regardless of how cold they were, there was a fire burning deep inside. An intensity that could be overwhelming.

The memory of being held like this earlier in the day. Pinned to the wall and at the mercy of another blonde. But this was different. Before Q had felt fear but now, he was defiant. Regardless of how dangerous this man was that was holding him, Q was his equal and he was going to prove it.

The moment dragged on as the two men stared at each other. Bond felt the young man relax in his grip. The boy’s fear was giving away to something else. Something more interesting. Bond wonder if their remaining time together could be less confrontationally and more athletic. He let a knowing smile come to face as he relaxed his expression. He started to lean forward as his glance shifter from Q’s eyes to his plumb dark lips.

“Are you planning on raping me now?” Q said calmly. The statement splashed cold water over Bond’s psyche. “It wouldn’t be the first time, so know, I won’t be docile. I’ll make sure you won’t enjoy it.”

“I don’t have to force partners.” James said as he slowly pushed himself away from Q.

He kept hold of the boy’s hands as he took as step back. Pulling Q along with him, James backed up to the table. He pushed Q to sit in one of the purple chairs. Then he pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket.

“Oh, you’re into bondage.” Q said raising an eyebrow.

Bond was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to slap that expression off the boy’s face. He tossed the cuffs at Q.

“Put it on. Loop it under the arm of the chair and locked around your other wrist.” Bond said. Q glanced down at the metal handcuffs.

“No!”

“I said do it!”

Q tried to stand but Bond pushed him back into the chair. He quickly slipped the cuff on to the young man’s wrist then looped it under the arm of the chair. Then he attached the other cuff to Q’s other wrist. When he was done Bond checked to make sure they were secure.

“Good, now if you want to leave, you will be dragging a chair behind you.”

Bond stepped away and went back to the bathroom. Q sat silently in the chair shaking violently. He was beginning to hyperventilate. Q closed his eyes and slowed his breathing down. There wasn’t a camera around. There wasn’t any reason to believe this man would do the same thing that was done to him before.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds someone he never thought he would see again.

Q yanked on the handcuffs. The arm of the chair was solid and he wasn’t going to be able to break it before he damaged his wrists. He sat glaring at the open bathroom door. He could hear the agent in the room. The facet was running in the sink and the man was humming softly to himself. Q was sure he was doing that just to irritate the young man. Q leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. He decide he could be as irritating as the blonde was.

After about five minutes, Bond came out of the bathroom in a clean shirt. He had washed his face and cleaned the blood off his cheek. He went to his suitcase and pulled out a deck of cards, then he sat down in the opposite chair from Q.

“It will be difficult for me to hold my cards unless you remove the cuffs.” Q quibbled.

“Who said we are playing cards together.” Bond broke the seal on the deck and removed the stiff cards. He pulled the jokers from the deck and shuffled the cards several times before dealing out a game of solitaire.

Q watched for a few moments, confused by the man’s actions. “Don’t you want to question me?”

“We have people who are experts at that back in England. I’ll let them play with you.” Bond didn’t look up from his game.

Q sighed heavily and glanced around the room. His eyes fell on the one bed.

“Do you expect me to share that bed with you?”

“No.” Bond turned over three new cards.

“So where are you going to sleep?”

“In the bed. You aren’t leaving that chair.” Bond sighed as he turned over the last card and lost the game. He gathered the cards together, reshuffled and dealt another hand.

“You must be joking.”

Bond glanced up at the younger man and smiled. Q glared at him.

“Are you at least going to feed me? I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.” Q said trying to figure out if he could get Bond to leave his alone.

“Sounds like bad planning on your part.” Bond said as he shifted a black nine onto a red ten.

“Well, I didn’t expect to be kidnapped today. It wasn’t on my agenda.”

Bond glanced up and smiled. “The hotel doesn’t have room service. Sorry.”

Q hated that patronizing smile even more. “I saw a gift shop downstairs. You can go and buy me a bag of crisps.”

Bond leaned back in his chair and stared at the young man for moment.

“You should eat heather than that. No wonder you’re skinny as a twig.”

Q narrowed his eyes. “I have a high metabolism. I would prefer fresh fruit but I sincerely doubt that is available downstairs.”

Bond remained sitting for a few moments, then he set the cards on the table. He stood up and went over to the young man. Bond noticed how Q leaned back and stiffened himself, as if expecting to be hit. Bond decided to move slowly as he took out a key and unfastened one of the cuffs. Grabbing Q by the shoulder, he lifted the young man out of the chair and pushed him over towards the bed.

“I thought . . .” Q’s comment was cut off when Bond pushed the younger man down on to the duvet.

Quickly, Bond grabbed Q’s wrists and twisted the young man around so his hands were above his head. He looped the handcuff again around the frame for the headboard and closed it around Q’s wrist before Q could fight back. Now the young man was stretched across the bed with his hands restrained by the cuffs above his head. Bond removed Q’s glasses and set them on the nightstand.

His dark curls were even more disarrayed by the struggle across the pillows. His face was turning red with anger and he was pressing his dark red lips out in an exaggerated pout. If he wasn’t such an infuriating little pup, Bond thought it would nice to kiss him right about now.

“You could have asked nicely for me to get on the bed but maybe you enjoy it rough.” Q snapped at Bond. “So predictable.”

Bond noticed the fear in the young man’s eyes that he tried to hide by his attitude. Bond kept his expression neutral as he stepped away from the bed. He went into the bathroom and came out with a flannel. Before Q could ask what it was for, Bond wadded it up and shoved it into the boy’s mouth. He reached over and pulled a necktie from the open suitcase. Looping it once around Q’s head, Bond tied the towel into Q’s mouth so he couldn’t spit it out.

Bond was actually relieved when he saw the anger replace the fear in the younger man’s eyes. If Q’s hands had been freed, Bond was positive the young man would have them around the blonde’s neck. He couldn’t help himself, he laughed, then leaned over and kissed Q’s forehead. Q grunted and tried to move away.

“Now be a good little boy and I’ll bring you back a sweet.”

Q started kicking and screaming into the gag. Bond removed his suitcase from the bed so the young man wouldn’t kick it off. He stepped out of the room and made sure the door was locked.

~Q~

It was a middle quality hotel so the services were limited. Bond was truthful that there wasn’t any room service, but there was a small courtesy shop just off the front desk. A limited variety of snacks and travel necessaries. Bond grabbed two bags of different favored crisps and two cans of soda. He looked at the various chocolate bars available and was deciding which one to buy when the smaller man stepped up beside him.

“Good evening, Mister Bond. I sure hope that’s not your dinner.”

Bond remained calm as he turned slightly to see the blonde man from the alley in his peripheral vision. The soldier.

“Limited options.” Bond said emotionless.

“Speaking as a doctor, I recommend the fruit. It’s a bit bruised but would be better for you than the chocolate. Slower release of sugar.” The smaller man stepped closer and moved to stand in plain view of the agent.

Bond let his eyes moved quickly over the man. The soldier had his hands in plain sight, not concealing anything. He was relaxed and his stance was open and non-threating.

“Doctor? I thought you were military. Royal Navy?” Bond asked.

“No,” he laughed softly, shaking his head. “RAMC, retired. I guess I’ll never lose the impression. Name is John Watson.” The shorter man held his hand out.

Bond looked at it for a moment then shook it firmly. One solid shake.

“So if you are here, where is Sherlock?”

Bond could see the shift in Watson’s eyes.

“He is around here somewhere. He is looking for your guest.”

“Why?” Bond felt the need to get back to the room quickly, but didn’t move. He didn’t want to give away where he had Q stashed.

“We believe he will lead us to someone very dangerous.”

Bond smirked. “So do we.”

~Q~

Q was laying on the bed, absolutely furious with Bond. He heard the door open and started to shout into the gag. He didn’t want to jerk on the handcuffs so he wouldn’t hurt his wrists but he was going to give the British agent an ear full once he could talk again.

Q watched as a man slowly entered the room. He knew it wasn’t Bond but he didn’t know who it was. The man was tall and thin in a black coat. He had dark hair and very pale skin. The man took several steps into the room then paused. He seemed to be studying Q. Suddenly the man rushed forward and started speaking. Q knew the voice immediately. He never thought he would hear it again. He never wanted to hear it again.

“Tristian! Oh, my God! I thought . . . they told us you were dead! There was a body! Tristian!” Sherlock was panting. He quickly untied the gag around Q’s mouth. He yanked the flannel from his brother’s lips.

“Sherlock? What are you doing here?”

Sherlock was already working on picking the lock on the handcuffs before Q spoke.

“I was after a criminal. A hacker . . .” Sherlock paused and looked down at his brother. “It was you. You’re the hacker.”

“Just get these damn things off me.” Q hissed. Sherlock returned to picking the locks.

“Were you coerced into helping him?” Sherlock asked when he got the first cuff off Q’s wrist.

Q quickly pulled the handcuff through the headboard and sat up. Sherlock grabbed his other wrist and started to work on the lock.

“Coerced? . . . Yes. Colonel Sebastian Moran, he made me work for him.” Q said as he watched his brother work.

“That’s who we followed here. He is outside in the car park, waiting. We need to leave before he comes in here.”

“Moran is here?” Q asked. His voice betraying his fear.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Q remembered hearing those words before. Just before his world imploded and he found himself a fugitive from England. Q grabbed his eye glasses with his free hand and slipped them on his face. He watched as Sherlock opened the second lock and the metal handcuffs fell to the floor.

“Follow me!” Sherlock said as he stood back up and turned his back.

It was quick and violent. Q grabbed the lamp off the nightstand and hit his older brother in the back of the head with it. The lamp was heavy; made of wood and metal. Sherlock collapsed immediately to the floor. Grunting has he fell to his knees. Q swung again and hit Sherlock’s shoulder. The injured man crumbled in a loud groan as his shoulder dislocated.

Q was rushing out the door of the hotel room. He glanced at the lift. The numbers indicated the lift was going down. He looked around and saw the door for the stairwell. He rushed over and opened the door. The stairs looked empty. He started to run down them as he heard his brother calling out his name.

“TRISTIAN!”

~Q~

Bond and Watson were still in the courtesy shop when they noticed Sebastian Moran enter the lobby of the hotel with another tall blonde. Bond recognized the other man as being the one who tried to take Q back from him at the Tuileries Garden. He grabbed Watson’s arm and pulled him back into the alcove the small shop occupied. Both men waited till they saw the other two walk up to the lift. Bond looked up at the floor indicator. It was on the top floor, three stories up.

“Com’ on.” He grabbed Watson’s arm again and pulled him around the corner and towards the stairwell.

“How do they know where he is?” John asked as they started running up the stairs, thankful he started his military fitness training again after Sherlock had returned. He would have hated to think about running up three flights of stairs a year ago.

“The man’s mobile. I didn’t think about it when I took it off him. It must have a tracker in it.” Bond said as he rounded the landing of the second floor and started up the steps for the third.

They heard the door open at the top of the stairs and the sound of someone running down the stairs towards them. John looked up and caught a brief glimpse of dark hair and pale skin.

“Sherlock?!”

The person running down the stairs looked up just in time for Bond to see him.

“Shite!”

Q tried to stop his downward momentum but tripped. He fell the last few steps and landed on the concrete landing just as Bond reached it. Bond grabbed Q and pulled him up to his feet.

“How did you get out of those cuffs!?” Bond growled and he pushed the younger man hard into the wall.

John was going to complain then realized he had made a mistake. This wasn’t Sherlock. But where was Sherlock?

“I had help, of course!” Q hissed as he was restrained.

“Sherlock?” John asked. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs. I should have known Mycroft would send someone to finish me off.”

John was already running up the stairs. Bond twisted Q’s arm behind his back. Q grunted and cursed at the man.

“You do something like that again and I will gladly start cutting off fingers. How well will you be able to use a computer missing several digits?” Bond shoved Q up the stairs.

They were about ten feet behind John on the stairs, when Watson pulled a Sig Sauer from the waistband at his back. Immediately, Bond removed his gun and prepared to shoot Watson, but the doctor was pointing the gun down hall.

“Let him go!” John shouted.

Suddenly, bullets were being fired at Watson. The wood around the doorframe splintered and flew up. John fired his gun then ducked as someone in the hallway fired back. As soon as Q heard the gunfire, he quit fighting against Bond. James was standing beside John. He let go of Q and young man dropped to the ground next to Bond’s feet. Curling into a ball, covering his face. Bond looked around the corner to see the two blondes from Tuileries Garden. Between them was Sherlock. As they started shooting, Sherlock pushed away from the two of them, he fell back in the hotel room through the open door. Bond started shooting as he saw Sherlock drag his feet into the room.

The two men kept shooting at John and James as they stepped into the lift. The doors closed and John took off running to Sherlock. Bond pick Q up off the ground. The young man was shaking. He looked up at Bond and his eyes were wide with panic. If Bond didn’t believe it was trick, he would thought the boy was terrified. He pulled Q into the room behind John.

“Sherlock!? Sherlock!? Where you hit?” John was kneeling over his friend trying to gently cup Sherlock’s face. Sherlock was twisting in pain on the floor.

“My shoulder, John . . . help me!”

John pushed Sherlock down to lay still and immediately saw the injured shoulder’s position. He took hold of Sherlock’s upper arm and position it, then punched down on Sherlock’s clavicle. There was a loud pop and Sherlock screamed out as the bone slipped back into place. John pulled Sherlock close to his body and gently embraced him. Sherlock calmed as soon as scent of John’s coat came to him.

“We’ve got to leave.” Bond said.

“Tristian? Why?” Sherlock said as John held him. “Moran, were you running from him?”

Watson and Bond looked at Sherlock. Slowly and reluctantly, John let Sherlock pull away from him. John helped his friend stand up, carefully to not harm Sherlock any more. Bond noticed Q tensed at the name Tristian.

“Who is Tristian?” Bond asked.

“My brother. Tristian Holmes.” Sherlock said looking Q straight into the face. John was wrapping a belt around Sherlock’s injured arm and this body.

“Tristian Holmes is dead, Sherlock. Didn’t you hear?” Q said coolly. Bond could feel the young man still trembling in his grip.

“That’s what Mycroft said, but you’re . . . here?” Sherlock said as he stepped closer to the other dark haired man. “What happened?”

Q remained quiet and returned Sherlock’s stare. He tried to appear defiant but Bond could see the fear hiding behind the angry expression in the young man’s face.

“We don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” Bond grabbed Q’s elbow and pulled him from the room.

Sherlock and John followed the two men back down the stairs to the lobby. They made it to Bond’s car as the police were arriving.

“Do you have any more tracker on you?” Bond asked as he pushed Q into the narrow backseat with John.

“I didn’t know about that one.” Q answered honestly. “Moran is not my friend.”

“But you work for him?” Sherlock asked as he carefully got into the passenger seat.

“It’s complicated.” Q said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond wants answers to his questions and the two Holmes brothers are going to provide them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, drug use in this chapter.

Bond was driving west towards the coast. He pressed the button on his steering wheel and engaged the communication link to TSS and MI6.

“007? Report.”

Bond heard Annie Reilly’s voice over the speakers in the car. She had been his quartermaster for the last few years. The two of them had worked well together. She was older and seemed to have the doting elderly aunt feel to her.

“Annie . . . I need a safe house between Paris and Callie. I have the target in the car with me and two civilians.”

“James, what did you do now?” He could hear her exasperated sigh over the com link.

“It actually wasn’t me this time, love. I need to speak to M. We have a problem with our Whitehall connection. And the address of the safe house.”

Bond could hear her typing in the background. A soft hum from the woman as she worked. In his mental eye, James saw her working in the dark basement offices of MI6. The only light coming from the large computer screen hanging on the wall. The light reflected on her soft wrinkles and very round glasses.

“I’m sending the coordinates to your sat nav. I will inform M to contact you in the morning, James. I’m sure she has left for the day.”

“Annie, this is important. Get a message to her tonight. At least call Tanner. We have a leak.”

Bond heard the typing stop, then quickly resumed. “Understood, 007.”

Bond pressed the button and the com link was closed. He looked over at the GPS and a map appeared with direction to the MI6 safe house. It would be just over an hour till they reached it. Hopefully by then he would have M looking into Mycroft Holmes.

~Q~

The safe house was an old farm house off the A-1 near Compiegne. Bond pulled the Aston Martin in the barn and everyone got out of the car. Bond’s hand immediately clamped around Q’s upper arm as he dragged him to the house.

Q eyed the old farm house. It was thick walled with a thatch roof. The windows were narrow and small. Several appeared to be broken. The yard in front of the door was weedy with broken farm equipment strewn across it. The wall surrounding the garden was broken and crumbling.

“Is this really a good idea?” Q asked as he gave the house a curious look. “I think a two year old could break in.”

Bond let a knowing smile come to his lips. He walked up to the front door and ignored the door and the locks. Instead, he went to the flower box. Dead plants clung together in clumps within the wooden box. Bond touched the side of the box and the panel moved away, showing a small numeric keypad. Bond typed in the seven digit code and the door unlocked.

Sherlock and John glanced at each other, as Bond opened the door and pushed Q into the dark house. Bond held the door open as Sherlock and John walked in. Sherlock reached over and flipped the switch for the lights. The large room took up the entire ground floor. There was a modern kitchen built in the corner with a large wooden table and several chairs. There were several couches and chairs arranged in seating groups. On the back wall of the room between two boarded up windows, were several computer screens, flickering to life. The images on the screen were outside views of the house and the surrounding farmland. One screen was split between BBC news with a constant streaming of international news and CNN.

Q pulled away from Bond and immediately gravitated towards the computers. Just as John stepped past Bond, the taller blonde grabbed John by the shoulder and held him still. Bond’s Walther was pressed up against John’s temple. Sherlock spun to see his best friend frozen beside the MI6 agent with a gun to head.

“Alright, I want answers.” Bond said as he kicked the door closed behind him. The sound of locks being engaged could be heard.

The two dark haired men stood side by side. From this angle it was obvious they were brothers. The riotous dark curls over slim frames. The same narrow faces with sharp cheek bones. Both of their lips were dark and full. A stately round noses with intelligent eyes. But where Sherlock had the icy blue green eyes, Q had warm hazel green eyes.

“So much for waiting for the experts.” Q said as he glared at Bond.

Bond kept his expression neutral while he held the gun, ready to shoot the doctor. John was perfectly still, not wanting to do anything to cause the agent to jerk his hand. Sherlock was the only one who seemed upset and distraught. What little color was there in his face rapidly drained away.

“John!”

“Tell me exactly who both of you are.” Bond said.

“He is my brother. Younger brother, Tristian Holmes. I was told he was killed nine years ago.” Sherlock said. “My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am a consulting detective. I work with Scotland Yard. John . . . John Watson is my . . . my flat mate and friend. We work together.”

“I thought he was a doctor.” Bond said.

“He is, but he also assists me with my investigations.”

“Flat mate? He is wearing a wedding band. Are you two . . .?”

Sherlock shook his head then glanced away from Bond and John. “We were flat mates. He is married now. Please . . .”

“You came looking for your brother?”

“No . . . I was looking for a criminal. His name is Query.” Sherlock said.

Bond noticed the flash of recognition in Q’s eyes.

“I think you have found him. Why have you let your brother believe you’ve been dead for nine years?” Bond asked Q.

“It wasn’t my idea. Our other brother exiled me from England. I was forced to leave and I’ve been making my own way in the world since then.” Q said coldly.

Sherlock turned and looked at Q. “Mycroft told us you were dead. He said it was an automobile accident.”

“He lied. He had me arrested for . . . for treason. He was going to see me put in jail for the rest of my life but gave me the option to leave and never return. I decided to leave. It wasn’t an accident. He planned everything out. I just ran away from him too.”

“Treason?” Sherlock whispered. “I don’t . . . you would never.”

Q turned and narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. “When Mycroft learned it was me, he had me arrested. He watched as I was interrogated by MI5.”

“Tristian?” Sherlock started to reach out for his brother but Q stepped back away from Sherlock.

“So escaped or was helped by Mycroft Holmes to leave England and you changed your name to Robert Frobisher.” Bond stated instead of asked.

“I’ve been working for years now in the shadows. Hiding.” Q said to all of them.

“And Colonel Sebastian Moran was going to hire you?” Sherlock asked.

Q laughed. “You always underestimated me. Moran wasn’t going to hire me. We worked together.”

“Tristian . . . he is a murderer. He was Moriarty’s right hand man. He is a monster.”

“Who else would be in the shadows with me but monsters?” Q asked. “Moriarty saved my life. He was . . . he was my friend.”

Sherlock looked as if he had been punched in the chest.

“What about Renard?” Bond asked. His grip on John slackened slightly but he still held the gun to the doctor’s head.

“Renard wanted us to broker a deal for some weapons. Moran was handling that. I wasn’t involved except to make sure the weapons and transfer of money were untraceable. The deal will go through even if I’m not there. So you haven’t stopped a thing.”

Bond smiled at the man. “Renard won’t be buying any more weapons. He is dead.”

Bond let go of John’s arm and grabbed the Sig Sauer from his waistband. Then he shoved Watson away from him. Sherlock rushed forward and wrapped his arms around John, pulling him back. He twisted and placed himself between John and the man with the gun.

“How do you know?” Q asked. “How do you know that Renard is dead?”

Moran and Q had been wanting the money from the sale of the guns to help re-establish themselves in the criminal element in France.

“He shot him.” Sherlock said, answering for Bond.

The smile slipped from Bond’s face and was replaced with the emotionless stare.

“But you have made a mistake, Bond.” Sherlock continued. His arms still protectively wrapped around the doctor. “Renard may not be dead. King was found dead in the hotel room, but he was gone. He was taken from the crime scene. We don’t know for sure if he is dead or not.”

“I put a bullet in his head. He is dead.”

“Let us hope.” Sherlock said, finally letting John detangle himself from Sherlock’s arms. But Sherlock still kept himself between the two blondes.

Bond looked at the three people in front of him. His primary mission was to bring the hacker back to England but now he had the two civilians here with him too. If he threw them out of the house, they could accidently bring Moran here, or intentionally bring Mycroft Holmes. Either way it was a negative outcome for Bond’s mission. He was going to have to keep them here and keep them controlled.

“It is late. I think sleep is the best option now. This place is camouflaged. It appears abandoned and no one would look here for us. I can set the house on defense mode so even if someone does decide to coming snooping around they can’t get within a hundred meters of it without us knowing. There are two bedrooms upstairs. Q and I will take one and you two can share the other.” Bond decided it would be best to keep his prisoner with him.

Q glared at him, but Bond noticed the young man didn’t object. Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something, but decided not to. John just nodded. His military training coming into play quickly. ‘ _Take orders and follow them as long as they won’t get you killed_.’ Bond went over and typed a command into the computers and the lights dimmed in the room. The four men heard the clunk was heavy solenoid closed, locking the steel re-enforced door. Trapping the four of them in the farmhouse.

~Q~

The room Sherlock and John took was a nice comfortable looking room with a large double bed and small sitting area. There was a full bathroom just for them. The windows on this floor were also covered with heavy wooden boards and blackout curtains. From outside the rooms would appear dark, but the lights were on inside. Although in defense mode, the lighting was mooted and soft shadows covered everything. John glanced at the single bed then over at the couch across from it. He knew it was ridiculous to worry about it, but he thought it would be better if he slept on the couch instead of crawling into a bed with Sherlock. After everything they had been through, the idea a sleeping that close to the man made John feel an awkward rush. He could feel his skin flush at the thought of laying that close to Sherlock in a bed.

Sherlock was pacing wildly around the room. The detective had removed his heavy black coat and tossed it on the bed. Softly, Sherlock was muttering to himself. Occasionally glancing at John, as he spoke. John knew Sherlock wasn’t in his mind palace but he wasn’t sure what exactly was going on. John started to remove the things from his pockets. If he was going to sleep on the couch, he was more than likely going to be wearing his trousers. He really didn’t want to sleep on his keys. He glanced down at his phone and noticed the time. It was too late to call Mary, but he could leave a message. He quickly typed in . . .

_7-11-16 be home soon. Miss you._

The phone rang in his hand.

“Hello?” He answered.

“John. Where are you?” Mary sounded concerned.

“Just outside of Paris. At a . . . well I can’t really say. We should be home in a day or two.” John looked up to see Sherlock watching him intently.

“I thought you would be back today.”

“Sorry. Do you need me to come home sooner? Is the baby alright?” John started to concentrate on Mary, looking away from Sherlock.

“We’re fine. Don’t worry. It’s just Mycroft has been looking for you two. Sherlock’s father had a fall. He is alright, just a little bruised up. No long term damage.”

“Oh, God. How is his mother? Is she okay?” John asked glancing up to see Sherlock step into the bathroom and close the door.

“She is fine. She has just been asking for Sherlock and Mycroft couldn’t find him. I told him the two of you were together and not to worry.”

John was silent.

“John? Everything is alright isn’t it?”

“Yeah, everything is fine. It’s good.”

There was silence again on the phone line. Then Mary spoke again.

“Hurry home. I’m sure this young girl would like to see her father very soon.”

John smiled and nodded his head. “I know I want to see her too. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“I love you, John.”

John paused. The words hung in his throat.

“I . . . I love you too, dear.” He wonder why it was so hard to answer her. “Good night, love. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

“Good night, John.”

John heard the phone line click as the call was disconnected. He glanced down at the phone in his hand. He felt sick. His stomach was twisting and he didn’t really know why. Maybe he was hungry. He looked up and the bathroom door was still closed. John sighed and went to see if there was any other pillows or blankets in the airing cupboard. There weren’t. He went to the bed to remove a pillow for himself and see if there were an extra blanket on the bed.

He glanced at the bed for moment. Something was off. He looked around the room once, then back to the bed. Sherlock’s coat was gone. John had a sinking fear. He wondered if Sherlock had for some daft reason decided to climb out the window in the bathroom. John completely forgot about modesty and pushed the door open. Shouting.

“Sherlock!”

The black coat was laid across the counter. John could see where the lining had been pulled back from a torn seam. On the counter was the clear glass vile with the metal and rubber seal. John’s eyes moved quickly to the man leaning back against the wall. His jacket off and white shirt sleeved rolled up. His left arm was bare and flushed dark red. Sherlock’s belt was wrapped around the arm like a tourniquet. In his right hand, he held the syringe. His thumb just before depressing the plunger. The tip of the needle sliding into the pronounced vein.  


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds Sherlock shooting up in the bathroom. Emotional turmoil erupts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very emotional and Sherlock and John don't react as you might think they would when John finds him.

Sherlock’s eyes were locked on the syringe. He didn’t even noticed the door had opened until he heard John shout his name.

“SHEROCK, NO!”

Sherlock quickly twisted his head to see the doctor standing in the open door way. His face flushed red as the blood vessel across his brow swelled in his anger. Sherlock saw John ball his hands into fists as his whole body began to shake.

Before Sherlock could open his mouth to say something. As if there was anything he could say at that moment to excuse this failure. He had succumb to his baser needs. He would try to convince himself the drugs were to make it easier to think. To clear away the cobwebs and open his mind up, the truth of matter was, right now, he wanted oblivion. He wanted to disappear into the world of haze and no emotions. He wanted to forget.

He didn’t want to remember his younger brother. He didn’t want to see the expression of Tristian’s face as he said he was Moran’s partner. That his sweet and innocent little brother was working side by side with the killer. And if he was working with Moran, had he also worked with Moriarty. Had he been there when Moriarty had kidnapped those children? Had he watched as Moriarty blew up that old woman? Did Tristian help strap the bomb vest to John?

Sherlock couldn’t think. He didn’t want to think. He wanted to fall into the dream like state of intoxication and float. Glide away from the reality of a criminal brother and a manipulative one. Did Mycroft know what Tristian was doing? Did Mycroft give his blessing to Tristian joining the man who was trying to destroy Sherlock?

Too many questions. Too many accusations. He just wanted to disappear. But he couldn’t. John had seen him. John would know. John would care.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING” John shouted as he stepped into the room. Rushing forward towards Sherlock.

Sherlock felt his hand being slapped away from the hypodermic. The plastic syringe flung across the room and landed in the bathtub. John’s left hand wrapped tightly around Sherlock’s right wrist and forcefully pinned it to the wall. Always the doctor, John avoided Sherlock’s injured left shoulder, but instead, pressed his forearm under Sherlock’s chin and pushed him back into the wall. Compressing down on Sherlock’s throat.

Sherlock took one desperate gasp as John stepped into his space and pressed his smaller frame into Sherlock’s. Trapping the man next to the wall.

“Damn it Sherlock! How could you?! I was right in the next room!”

Sherlock looked down into John’s deep blue eyes. They were blue like a deep lake or the ocean. He could go swimming in the depths of John’s eyes. Sherlock could see the intensity and the passion in John’s eyes. So passionate and honest. Sherlock didn’t want to think anymore. He just wanted . . . He blinked rapidly and instead of answering John’s question he reacted to the doctor.

Too long he had waited. For too many nights he wanted to do this. To be close to John. To touch and taste. To hold and be held.

Sherlock leaned forward, pressing into the arm across his throat. Cutting off his own air and he reached for John’s lips with his own. A firm brush of warm dry lips against soft full ones. It was sudden and abrupt. There was no warning or anticipation. It just happened.

John’s protest froze in his throat. The pressure on Sherlock’s throat lessened, but John didn’t back up from Sherlock. The taller man pushed forward. Turning his head slightly for a better angle. Then he felt it. The movement in John’s lips. The slight drag of a tongue over his lower lip. Sherlock moaned and opened his mouth. Wanting to taste John. Inviting him in.

Suddenly, John let go of Sherlock’s wrist and pushed himself back away from the detective. In the small confines of the bathroom, John could only take two steps back before he hit the edge of the counter. He leaned back over the sink. His hands gripping the edge of the vanity.

“John . . .” Sherlock moaned as he stepped forward.

“Sherlock . . . what . . .?”

Sherlock stepped close again, invading John’s space. He leaned down again and twisted his head to kiss John again. This time, John kissed him back. The doctor’s hand reaching up to grasp behind Sherlock’s neck and hold the man tight to himself.

“Jawn . . .” Sherlock moaned shamelessly as he moved from John’s lips to the blonde’s jawline and down his neck.

“Sherlock . . . oh, God!” John groaned as Sherlock’s teeth closed lightly on the man’s throat. “Please . . . we can’t . . . oh, Sherlock!”

Sherlock’s fingers were already working on John’s belt and button of his waist band. When he had them free, Sherlock rapidly sank to this knees in front of the man. His hands deftly opening John’s fly.

“Please, John . . . I must.”

John watched as Sherlock buried his nose into the folds of John’s trousers. Smelling John’s musk. That was when John realized how hard he was. His cock gave a sudden and violent jerk as his fingers dragged through Sherlock’s curls.

Sherlock pulled the waistband of John’s pants down. He slipped the elastic under John’s balls, as the man’s cock pointed directly at Sherlock’s lips.

“Shite . . .” John breathed out slowly. The sight of Sherlock on his knees before him was making John’s knees weak. He felt the weight in his abdomen as Sherlock glanced up at him through his dark eyelashes.

With is eyes locked on John, Sherlock slowly let his tongue swirl around the head of the glans. John’s fingers tightened around Sherlock’s hair and John watched as Sherlock closed his eyes and moaned. Sherlock’s lips closed over John’s cock and luridly slid down the length.

“Fuck . . . Sherlock!” John whimpered. He fought the urge to thrust forward.

Sherlock was savoring John’s taste. The weight of the man’s organ on his tongue. Sherlock felt lightheaded. He began sucking and sliding up and down the shaft. The feel of the velvet skin over the hard rod. Sherlock pulled back, dragging his tongue up the thick vein on the underside. His teeth lightly grazing over the top as a counter point. He heard John whimper and call out his name at the same time as John’s fist tightened and pulled his hair.

“Sherlock, oh God . . . please . . . I want . . .” John said between gasps.

Sherlock slowly pulled off and looked up at his best friend. “What John? What do you want?”

John looked down into the black eyes of Sherlock. The iridescent blue only a thin rim around the pupils. Sherlock’s face was flushed and a wanton shade of pink highlighted his cheekbones. Sherlock’s lips were still slick with spit and precum. The entire image pulled at John’s groin. He wanted! Oh, God, how much he wanted this man!

“Tell me John, what do you want?” Sherlock said again in as deep a voice as John had ever heard.

Sherlock still on his knees before John. Looking for all the world like a fallen wanton angel. Fragile in submission but strong in his desires.

“I want . . . I want . . . Sherlock!” John was trembling.

“Do you want to know what it feels like to climax down my throat?”

John thought for moment he was going to come all over Sherlock’s face just from those few words.

“Do you want to know what it would be like to slide your skin next to mine? To touch me and hold me? Push me down and take me? How good I can make you feel with my fingers and tongue? Would you like to know how much I would moan as you fuck me?” Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on John’s. The dark depths looking up through hooded lids.

“Oh, God . . . yes!” John’s knees crumbled. He slid down the edge of the vanity and even though there was barely any room between them. Sherlock and John crashed into each other, wrapping arms around each other’s bodies and seeking out each other’s lips. Their tongues met and dueled for control. Sherlock felt John licking the taste of him from Sherlock’s mouth. Jealously, Sherlock wanted to erase every memory of every other lover John had ever had. John was his and no one else would have this man but him.

“Bed . . . now . . .” John said between kisses.

The two men climbed to their feet, already pulling clothes off. When John tugged on Sherlock’s shirt, the dark haired man groaned and jerked back in pain.

“Sherlock?! Oh, fuck, your shoulder. I totally forgot. We don’t . . .”

Sherlock lunged forward. “Yes we do!”

He carefully removed his shirt while still pushing John towards the bed. The kisses became sloppy as hands moved over skin.

“What do you want? What can I do?” John asked.

“Everything . . .” Sherlock whispered into John’s shoulder. “Take me. Make me yours.”

Sherlock laid down on the bed and John carefully laid over the top of him, avoiding the left shoulder.

“We don’t have any lube.” John whispered as his teeth gently took hold of Sherlock’s earlobe.

“Saliva . . . no wait. I saw some hand lotion in the bathroom. Use it.”

John reluctantly pushed himself away from Sherlock’s body. “Condoms?”

“I’m clean. I promise.”

“I know you are. I . . . when you were shot, I had them run a whole battery of STD tests. I didn’t know what you had been up too while you were away. I just wanted to know you were safe.”

John watched as Sherlock’s expression softened. “Always the doctor, always protecting me.” He whispered.

“Sherlock . . . I can’t not protect you.”

Both men smiled sadly at each other. Then Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and squeezed it.

“I know you are clean too. Get the lotion. I want to feel you inside me.”

John stumbled to the bathroom and retrieved the bottle of lotion from the counter. He returned to see Sherlock stretched out over the bed. His pale skin now blushed pink with desire. His dark curls resting on the white sheets. The long lean body trembling slightly, waiting for John’s touch.

John moved carefully as he prepared Sherlock. The detective kept reaching for the doctor. To touch him and kiss him. John positioned Sherlock to lay flat on the bed with a pillow under his hips. With one leg resting on John’s right shoulder, the two friends looked at each other once more, just as John’s glans pushed into Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock lifted his chin and lengthened his neck. The stretch continued the entirety of his body. His back arching as John slid into him. A deep and guttural moan slipped past Sherlock’s swollen lips. John bent closer and captured the last sounds with his own mouth. The reverberations passing into the blonde. Sherlock’s right arm came up and wrapped around John’s shoulder; holding the man tighter to his body. Wanting to melt the two of them together.

John couldn’t close his eyes. It was too spectacular to look away. The sight of Sherlock taking his cock. Sherlock relenting to the man. John didn’t think he would ever see anything so erotic again in all of his life. Sherlock . . . his Sherlock becoming his lover. It was too much. Too perfect. The pressure and heat. The sounds coming from Sherlock’s mouth. Then John realized some of those lurid sounds were coming from him. Moans and pleas. Groans and curses.

The two men moved the synchronized perfection of practiced partners. Taking and giving equally. Sharing in the pleasure as much as searching out more sensation. The moment was more than the climax, it was the intensity of sharing.

“Jawn . . .” Sherlock’s voice carried on his exhalation. “Please . . . almost . . .”

“Yes, Sherlock . . . I’m there too.”

John’s hand wrapped around Sherlock’s hardened length. Sherlock hissed and bucked up into John’s hand. John matched his hand strokes with his thrusts into Sherlock’s body. Sherlock’s hand grasped hold of John’s bicep, his fingers pressing hard enough to drain the blood from the skin. John watched as Sherlock opened his mouth to shout but no sound came out. Just the tightening of Sherlock’s body like a bow string. Taut and stretched. John watched, wide eyed, as Sherlock fell over the edge. Pulling John along with him.

John rolled off to the side, falling to Sherlock’s right side to avoid his injured shoulder. The two men panting heavily. John rolled up onto his elbow and looked down into Sherlock’s face. He could see the tears slipping from Sherlock’s eyes.

“No, no, my love . . . don’t cry . . . did I hurt you?” John’s hand came up and cupped Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock turned his head so he could see John clearer. His silvery blue eyes rapidly scanning over John’s face. “Please don’t leave me. Please, I couldn’t survive if you left me.”

“Shush, no one is leaving anyone.” John leaned down and kissed Sherlock’s forehead, then each eyelid then the corner of his mouth. “I could never leave you.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything but John could see the doubt and fear in Sherlock’s eyes. John held Sherlock as their bodies cooled and their breathing smoothed out.

“Let me get a towel and clean us up, then I’ll be right back to hold you.”

Sherlock gave a quick single nod, and John slipped out of the bed and into the bathroom. He took a flannel from the airing cupboard and turned on the hot water taps. He was waiting for the water to run warm when he noticed his mobile on the floor where he had dropped it. John picked it up and noticed a message had been sent to him. He opened the text message and read it.

_8-11-16 We miss you too, love always, Mommy and baby_

John sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Mary. The message was from Mary. He had completely forgotten about her. He had ignored his wife, his pregnant wife and fell into bed with his best friend. John’s fist closed tightly around the mobile as the first tears slipped down his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, James finds out about what happened to Q when he was arrested by Mycroft and how he ended up on the run. Mentions of torture and sexual abuse in the next chapter. Please know your triggers and respect them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Q ended up with Moran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, description of a rape/torture in this chapter. Not graphic but still, please know your triggers and respect them.

Bond brought Q into the second bedroom in the small farm house. He had Q by the upper arm while his gun was trained at the young man’s head.

“Sit down.” Bond pushed Q towards an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room.

This room was towards the front of the house. It was larger than the other bedroom with a nice adjoining bathroom. There was a large queen-size bed and two overstuff chairs in chintz. The blocked off windows had curtains in the matching chintz and a large warm rug covered the wooden floor. It was surreal to think of this cozy room was in a spy hideout. Only the computer screens, sitting on a desk, showing various video feeds from cameras surrounding the farm proved it was a MI6 safe house.

Bond went to the small desk and started to search the different drawers. He finally gave up and looked at the electrical cable for the desk lamp. He unplugged the lamp from wall and yanked the cord free from the base. He then went over and tied Q’s hands together tightly.

Q glared at him and sighed dramatically, but said nothing. Bond watched Q for a moment then realized it was an act. The young man was shaking slightly. A slight sweat had broken out across his brow, as his eyes glanced back and forth between Bond and the computer screens.

“You’re not going to demand to sleep in the bed?” Bond asked expecting another fight from the young man.

“No.”

Bond stood and studied Q for a moment. Then he went over and laid down. Propping several pillows behind his shoulders and neck. Maybe now was a good time to get some answers.

“There is more than you just commenting treason, isn’t there?” Bond asked.

“Why would you say that?”

“Your brother turned you in, but then aided in your escape. Those two action contradict each other.”

Q shrugged his shoulder then looked away from Bond.

“Your brother asked you to commit treason and you are protecting him?”

“I wouldn’t lift a finger to help Mycroft. He is a pompous arse.” Q twisted back to glare at Bond.

“I’ve met him. I agree. But that still doesn’t answer my question. Why would he do both? Arrest you then help you escape. What did you do that was considered treason?”

Q stared at the man for several minutes, then spoke.

“Are you familiar with the abuse of Iraqi POW by coalition forces?”

“Yes, the Americans were in charge of the prison.”

“It wasn’t just Americans who were abusing prisoners. There were British soldiers involved too. Not with the prison but elsewhere.”

Bond thought for a moment then nodded his head. He remembered the case.

“Five soldiers. All of them were convicted and court-martialed.” Bond said coldly. He could understand how in the heat of battle things happened and civil men did uncivil things. But the idea of abusing unarmed individuals under your protection as retribution for other’s actions was abhorrent. Even to someone like himself who had seen so much evil in his life, he couldn’t even beginning to comprehend the torture of others for the pleasure of it.

“Originally, only two soldiers were to be court-martialed. I hacked into the MOD and found the initial reports. I tracked down ten people who had been involved in the abuse. I released the information on the internet. Three more were arrested and trialed.”

“The other five?”

“Two colonels and one general. Two members of MOD. The soldiers were allow to resign while the two civilians disappeared. Mycroft discovered I was the one who released the information to the internet. He had me arrested on treason charges for releasing classified material to the general public. Then it was discovered the two MOD officers were double agents. I had blown their covers and they had to flee. I showed up the government and proved its wrong doing while exposing two spies. My reward was three weeks of interrogation by MI5.” Q quickly looked away from the other man. He didn’t want Bond to see how frightened the memory was to him.

Bond remembered the story now. It had been over nine years ago. The two MOD men were actually working for the Russians and had encouraged the abuse to humiliate the British Army. When it was released that the men were had been members of Ministry of Defense for over a decade and had been involved in numerous top secret missions, everything was placed into doubt. The loyalty of long-term members of the secret service were questioned. Bond had gone through the investigation unscathed but several other people he knew lost their clearances and their jobs. It had be a terrible disgrace.

“That was you? You brought down the Jacob and Norton?” Bond asked coldly.

Q glanced back at the man. The sudden rush of fear that this spy would take out his anger on Q for what had happened almost ten years ago. Q didn’t answer him. He just remained still in the chair. Bond continued.

“It was a good thing you did. You let us know of a cancer that needed to be cut out. But why didn’t you warn us? Why did you release the information on the internet instead?”

“I was eighteen. Who would have believed me?” Q said.

“And that was when your brother released you?”

“He didn’t release me. He wanted to control me, keep me under his thumb. When I reached Canada, I escaped. I had a chance to run and I took it. I disappeared and never return to England. Never contact him or my family again. If I did . . .” Q blinked as he fought to keep the tears back. “If I did, he would have made sure I never left prison again.”

Q turned away from Bond and fought to control his emotions.

“I fled. I left Canada and made it to Australia with the help of a friend from uni. I ended up in Germany. I met a criminal by the name of Franz Muller. He wanted me to work for him. Be his computer expert. I refused.” Q began to shake more and Bond saw the young man start to lose control of his emotions. “He had two of his guards . . .” Q voice broke. He turned his eyes away from Bond and stared at the computer screens instead. Bond saw Q’s jaw twitch as the man clenched it hard. Bond thought Q would break his teeth, he was biting down so hard. “Two of his men raped me. He filmed while they took turns. Whenever I started to refuse to do something he requested, he would tie me to a chair and make me watch it over and over, again. He held me for over a year.”

Bond felt a wave of anger start to boil inside of him as he listened to the young man. He suddenly remember how Q reacted when Bond had handcuffed him to the chair. The young man probably feared there was another video tape he was going to force to watch.

“My skills came to the attention of an Irishman. He came to Germany and asked Muller to let him have me. Muller refused. Jim ordered Sebastian Moran to shoot Muller before the meeting was over. Jim took me to Rome and helped me recover. He took care of me. He was a good man. Together we built up his empire. I was the computer expert, Moran was the muscle and Jim was the brains. It was a beautiful intertwined criminal network.”

“Your Jim was James Moriarty?” Bond asked softly.

Q turned back and looked at Bond. His eyes were red but the tears were still clung to the corners.

“I told Jim about my family and he said I never needed to worry about them again. I never asked. I only found out after I learned Jim was dead what he had done to Sherlock. I didn’t know. Afterwards . . . I was so upset I didn’t do anything. I quit eating or sleeping. I just kept walking through our flat.”

“You and Jim were lovers?”

“I know he was evil but he was always good to me. He took care of me.” Q raised his tied hands and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Moran found me about a month later. I was sitting in a bathtub holding Jim’s gun. I was going to . . . Moran stopped me. He moved me out of Italy and into Paris. By the time I had recovered we learned that most of Jim Moriarty’s criminal network was being destroyed by someone. We fought to save what we could, but too much damage had been done. So Moran convinced me to create a new one. Renard was supplying the money and I used the memory of Jim to terrify people in to submitting.”

“It was you who sent the video message?” Bond asked. Q didn’t answer him but just stared back at the computer screens. “Why are you confessing to everything? You could have blamed Moran for it and we would probably believe you. You could have told us you were coerced.”

“It doesn’t matter now. What ever I say, Mycroft will twisted it around and send me to the deepest darkest hole he can find. He won’t even wrinkle his bloody suit as he turns the key.”

Bond stood up and pulled the covers down on the bed. He walked over and took Q by the shoulder and lifted him up. Walking Q over to the bed, Bond carefully lowered the confused young man to the mattress. Bond bent down and untied Q’s shoes and pulled them off. Then he lifted the young man’s legs and slipped them under the covers.

“I won’t untie you. You will have to sleep with your hands tied.”

“I don’t want to sleep in the same bed as you.” Q said between gritting teeth.

“No worries, I’m sleeping in the chair. MI6 said we have to stay here for a few days before we can attempt to make the crossing back into England. No reason for you to arrive sleep deprived. I can sleep anywhere.”

Bond turned off the light and stepped over the soft chair. He pulled a throw from off the other chair and covered himself up. The two men remained silent for a few moments. Just when Bond was ready to let sleep pull him under, he heard the soft voice of the young man.

“Thank you.”

~Q~

It was a private clinic on the outskirts of Reims. The building was a nineteenth century house that once was the home of a wealthy French landowner. The gothic revival architecture made the various patient rooms overly large and difficult to heat. Moran and Grant waited outside one of the rooms on the second floor as doctors rolled patients past in wheelchairs. The guard at the door was eyeing them suspiciously while the private doctor was speaking to the patient inside.

The door opened and the small woman stepped out into the hallway.

“He is awake and willing to speak to you, but, please-he is lucky to be alive. Do not encourage him to move at all. He must remain completely immobile if he wishes to live.” Her accent was slight, she had obviously trained in England instead of France.

Moran stepped into the room alone while Grant took up a position beside the other guard. He moved slowly up to the bed. The man who was laying in it had half of his face covered with a white cotton bandage. He was pale and appeared weak.

“Moran.” The man slurred. His chapped lips were partially covered by the bandages.

“Renard. I can’t believe you are still alive.” Moran stepped up to the edge of the bed.

“I am dead, Moran. My heart is just still beating. The bullet is still inside me-in my brain.”

“Will they remove it?” Moran asked feeling a sudden phantom pain burning inside his own head.

“No, it wouldn’t do any good. The bullet is still moving towards my brainstem. It can’t be stopped. If I lay perfectly still, I have eight maybe nine months to live. If I get up and start walking around, no more than three weeks.”

Moran nodded his head. He wondered what he would do if he had been given the same news.

“Do you know who shot you?”

“A British spy. He tracked Elektra down at the café.”

“The blonde?” Moran said remembering the man who had kidnapped Q from him.

“Yes, my informant in London said he was coming here. I found out Elektra had spoken to him. We were arguing about when . . . when . . .” Renard closed his eyes as he struggled.

“You think he is the one who shot you both?”

“I didn’t see the shooter but yes. I will hunt him down and killer him.”

“He took Robert Frobisher. I will kill him for you.” Moran said. “Give me his name.”

“It is James Bond, but he is mine. He was sent here to take your computer expert back to England.”

“Sent here? By who?” Moran thought he knew.

“Holmes.” Renard spit the word out.

Moran nodded. “I will deal with Holmes and Bond both. I will bring his head on a platter to you.”

“Do so and everything I have I will give to you. Then when I am dead, bury me with Elektra.”

Moran rested his hand on Renard’s shoulder. He squeezed it lightly so not to move the man.

“Do not worry, old friend. Bond is dead already too.”

Moran left the room, marching swiftly down the hall. Grant rushed to catch up with his boss.

“Well?” Grant asked.

“We have a name. I’m going to England. That is where they should end up. You start to track them here. Contact our moles in the police and government. I want the British spy found. I will get Robert back.”

Grant fell into step with Moran. He felt the rush of the hunt come over him.

“What about Sherlock Holmes? He was there at the hotel.”

“When we get Robert back, I will deal with both of the Holmes brothers. They have cost me too much and now the bill has come due.” Moran threatened.

“Are you going to use her?”

“I think that would be a perfect idea.” Moran said letting an evil grin come to his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your comments. It is helpful to know when others are enjoying the stories I write. You guys are the best.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after Sherlock and John sleep together and there is some emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is an honorable man and he is trying to deal with the fact he was unfaithful to his wife with his best friend. He also acknowledges he's loved Sherlock longer than he has his wife. The poor man is very confused.

Mycroft looked at the report Anthea had brought in to him. The team that was supposed to be following Sherlock had lost him, again. Sherlock and John had missed their connections in France and never arrived in Moscow. Finally a search of the hotel they had been tracked to in Paris, showed the two men left without notice. Leaving behind their suitcase and belongings. Mycroft sighed heavily.

His father was still in hospital and his mother had already called twice that day asking when Sherlock was going to arrive. Mycroft didn’t want to tell her he had no idea where his wayward brother was. She had already suffered too much by his actions.

“Sir,” Anthea interrupted his thoughts. “There was a report of an incident at Tuileries Garden involving a blonde and dark haired British nationals.”

“Photos?”

The woman opened a separated folder and handed him the picture. For a brief moment, Mycroft thought it was Sherlock. Dark curls, pale skin, hollow cheeks, but the man was too young. The blonde wasn’t Watson. Then his heart began to race. The same build and the glasses. Mycroft opened the drawer of his desk and removed a magnifying glass. He looked at the grainy CCTV image of the dark haired man. Then he looked at the blonde.

“I want to speak to M immediately. Get her on the phone now.” Mycroft was raising his voice. Anthea had never heard such emotion coming from her boss.

“Yes, sir. Right away.” She quickly typed away on her Blackberry as she started to back away from Mycroft.

“Also, I want every CCTV and electronic image of this man.” Mycroft held up the photo.

“The blonde?”

“No, the brunette.” He growled.

“Yes, sir.” Anthea read the message streaming across the screen of her Blackberry. “Sir, M is in a meeting with several MP’s. Do you wish to request that she return your call this morning?”

“Bloody hell, if her agent has done something to him, I’ll shoot the bastard myself.” Mycroft stood and rushed from the room before he confirmed with Anthea.

The woman stood shocked. She had never heard her boss swear in the seven years they had been working together. She had never seen him loose his composure but something had caused the Iceman to melt. And that something was the stranger in the photo.

~Q~

Bond woke as soon as he heard the doorknob turn. His fingers wrapped around the grip of the handgun hidden under the blanket. The door opened and Sherlock stepped into the room, wearing the clothes from the day before, sans the black jacket. Sherlock’s curls were uncombed and a distinct love bite was noticeable at the base of his exposed neck. Sherlock glanced first at the man sleeping in the bed, then his eyes turned towards the blonde sitting in the overstuffed chair.

“You don’t believe in knocking?” Bond said as his hand slipped out from under the blanket. Sherlock’s eyes fell rapidly on the gun then trailed back up to Bond’s vivid blue.

“I didn’t feel you were the type to force yourself on my defenseless brother.”

“Defenseless? I don’t believe so. But that still doesn’t excuse poor manners.” Bond said.

“I doubt you are in any position to criticize my etiquette.”

Bond lifted the Walther and shook it slightly. “Man with the gun.” Bond raised an eyebrow.

The two men’s attentions were pulled away from each other as they heard a soft mewing from the bed. Q began twisted away from the sound of the men talking and burrowed deeper under the covers.

“He always was slow to wake.” Sherlock said nonchalantly. Bond hummed in agreement, although he had no knowledge to agree or not. Sherlock turned back to him. “I wish to speak to my brother alone.”

“No. He is my prisoner and no one will be speaking to him until we reach MI6.”

“I need to know what happened. I need to know why he has been faking his death for all these years.”

“I sure you have another brother who would be more than willing to explain everything to you. Why don’t you try him?” Bond sneered at Holmes.

“Have you ever met Mycroft Holmes . . .?”

“Yes.” Bond caught him off before Sherlock finished his question. The dark haired man stared for a moment then rolled his eyes.

“Of course. You are one of his trained monkeys. Ever the obedient pet.”

“I believe you will find I’m not in the employ of your brother. And given the fact that he aided in the escape of a man suspected of treason, your brother will soon be out of a job too.”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to sneer. “You obviously underestimate Mycroft. That can be a very dangerous mistake.” Sherlock glanced back at the man sleeping in the bed. Then he asked offhandedly. “May John have his gun back? He feels naked without it.”

“I will be keeping control of all the guns.”

“Surely, by now, you know you can trust us? We are not amateurs.” Sherlock said.

“You tried to help my prisoner escape. You admit you want to help him. No, I do not trust you, but I don’t think my boss would appreciate me shooting you either. So until we reach London and I hand him over to MI6, you are unwanted baggage and nothing more.”

Sherlock sighed and turned to leave. He quietly closed the door. Bond’s eyes were still focused on the brass doorknob when Q spoke.

“He always considered me inferior.”

Bond glanced quickly over at the young man still laying tangled in the covers.

“Brothers can be like that. Especially with younger siblings.”

“Well, in justification he considers everyone inferior. Either intellectually or . . . ethically.”

“Is your brother an ethical man?”

“To his own values, yes. Not a moral man. Those would be values established by others who perceive him, but to his own standard, he is very ethical.” Q sat up in bed and dragged his tied hands over his sleep wrinkled face.

“And you?” Bond asked.

“My values were forced to change. I lost any chance at ethical or moral.” Q glanced up at Bond. Without his glasses the other man was just a collection of blobby color on the opposite side of the room. “I guess I would be inferior to him ethically, then. What about you?”

“Me? Apparently, I’m a trained monkey . . . but I have my own standards.” Bond glanced away not knowing the young man couldn’t see his face. He was afraid the man would be able to see that Bond had be forced to compromise his values too. He and the strange young man had more in common than Bond wanted to admit too.

~Q~

John was already making coffee in the kitchen when Sherlock walked down the stairs and into the open room of the ground floor. Hesitantly, Sherlock walked over and stood next to the counter, watching, as John carefully poured the steaming hot coffee into the two mugs.

“Sugar is on the table, Sherlock.” John said without looking up. He carefully pushed one of the mugs across the counter, near to the other man, but Sherlock didn’t reach for it.

John turned and leaned back against the counter and took a tentative sip of the hot coffee. He hummed softly when he welcomed the bitter taste.

“I haven’t checked the larder yet. Don’t know if there is anything here for breakfast.” John said staring off into the room, avoiding eye contact with Sherlock.

“John?”

The blonde turned away from Sherlock and walked to the refrigerator. He opened the door and looked inside.

“Hmmm. They must have been warned there is milk in here and it’s in date.” John pulled the carton from the refrigerator and set on the counter. “No eggs, or meats. Maybe there is some cereal in the cupboard.”

“John?” Sherlock said again. The doctor ignored him.

John was now opening the doors on the cupboards and checking the contents. Sherlock stepped beside him and reached up and gently grabbed John’s wrist, pulling it to turn the man to face him.

“You are avoiding. Stop it.”

John couldn’t look at Sherlock’s face. His eyes were fixed on the buttons of the man’s shirt.

“Please, John look at me.” Sherlock said almost begging.

John’s eyes started to slowly rise of the center button, but only made it as far as the open neckline of Sherlock’s shirt. There he saw the love bite he had placed on Sherlock’s neck the night before. John paled and blinked his eyes. Sherlock noticed immediately the man’s mortification.

“You regret.” Sherlock said. It was a conclusion and not a question.

John’s eyes snapped up and focused on the pain in Sherlock’s eyes.

“No! Never . . .” John said rapidly, but the damage was already done. Sherlock stepped back from the doctor. John opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock cut him off.

“So was is just a way to prevent me from using? I will admit, that was the first time I have ever seen a medical personal willing to go to such lengths to thwart a patient’s self-harm. Or are you always so self-sacrificing, bedding your patients?”

John’s expression hardened and he narrowed his eyes at the taller man.

“Sherlock, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now I swear . . . I swear, this time I won’t miss your nose when I punch you!”

Sherlock was slightly surprised by the doctor’s sudden attitude change. “Really, John, is that the best bed-side manner you could employ? I’m mean, last night your bed-side manner was, how shall we say, more intimate?”

The punch was fast and hard. Sherlock went down quickly. He was sitting on the floor, clasping his cheek, when John knelt down and pulled him into a hug.

“You berk! You big sodding berk! Just shut up! Please!” John was shaking. His arms pulled Sherlock closer and John buried his face into the detective’s throat.

For a moment, Sherlock was confused. John was acting as if he couldn’t make up his mind. John was removed, then angry, then consoling. He was holding Sherlock, seeking out the taller man’s comfort, just after punching him. Sherlock replayed the conversation over again. Then again. Nothing was making sense to the detective. It was like John was fighting within himself.

 _‘John is fighting with himself.’_ Sherlock said inside his mind. It all came to him. John was in conflict.

“Mary? She contacted you, this morning?” Sherlock asked as he moved to pull John into his arms.

John didn’t lift is head. “She texted. Last night, when we were . . .”

“Oh.” The pieces fell into place. “John, I will not force you. . .”

John pulled back so he look into Sherlock’s face.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you say it! I can’t . . . I won’t be without you. I didn’t know how much I wanted last night to happen until we’re together. Until you kissed me. It was like waking up from a dream and find out it was all real. I . . . I love you. I feel like I’ve always loved you. But . . .”

“But Mary?”

“I love her too. I love her and the baby, but Sherlock, I can’t breathe without you. You give me a reason for living.”

John’s hands came up and cupped either side of Sherlock’s face before his lips crashed into the other man’s. It was a desperate kiss. A pleading kiss for more. Wanting more. As if John was begging Sherlock to grant him life just through the simple act of touch.

Sherlock’s arms pulled John to him. Pushing himself into the kiss to let John feel Sherlock’s need for him too.

“I can’t be without you either, John. Please. You said you wouldn’t leave me. You promised me last night. You promised.”

“I won’t leave you, Sherlock. I won’t . . . but Mary. Mary and the baby. I can’t leave them too.” The two men move back and looked at each other. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, but I promise you. We will be together. I won’t let you go. I can’t.”

John bent his head down and rested it on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Anything, John.”

The two men sat together on the floor. Resting in each other’s arms.

“What about your brother?” John asked as he leaned back.

“Which one?” Sherlock asked.

John paused for a moment. He wasn’t sure which one he really wanted to the answer too.

“Both.”

“I will kill Mycroft when I see him again. Tristian . . . I don’t know. He worked with Moriarty. He was involved with the man. How can I trust him? Forgive him?”

“He is your brother, Sherlock. I’m sure there is a reason behind it. Maybe he didn’t know who Moriarty was. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing to you-to us.”

“I don’t know the man anymore. The Tristian I knew was so unlike Mycroft and me. He was happy. Honest. Brilliant, but . . . human.” Sherlock looked away from John. The blonde gently grabbed Sherlock’s chin and pulled the man back to look the doctor in the eyes.

“You are human too, although you will deny it. Otherwise I couldn’t be so daft about you.” A soft sad smile came to John’s face.

Sherlock studied the other man’s face. The sincerity and honesty in John’s sapphire blue eyes. Sherlock started to lean closer then paused. He hesitated remembering John was still confused about Mary and himself.

“Yeah, well. In for a penny . . .” John wrapped his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled him forward. Warm lips touched smooth and the two shared another kiss.

Sherlock felt light headed and relieved, but knew this was just the beginning of a difficult battle.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to rationalize Q's actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm writing this I came to the realization I use the Q fakes his death to hide from his family in several of my stories. Sorry I keep going back to that plot device but it is just something that seems to fit in my strange mixed up mind. I hope you don't find it boring.

There is a change in the sound a shower makes when someone steps under the water. Bond waited till he heard that sound. He had agreed to let Q take a shower, and after he had untied Q’s wrists, Bond waited outside the door. As soon as he was sure Q was in the shower, Bond called M.

“Where are you?” the woman asked. Her voice sharp.

“At the safe house outside of Compiegne. I have the package but I need intel.” Bond said.

“What do you need?” M asked as she waved Tanner into her office to listen in to the phone call.

“Information on one Tristian Holmes, brother of Mycroft Holmes.”

“Tanner.” M ordered the Chief of Staff to supply the information to Bond.

“Tristian Holmes was a computer prodigy. Was destine for greatness in the cyber world until he hack into MOD and released a confidential reports on prisoner abuse ten years ago. The reports confirmed MOD knew about the abuse and it was of great embarrassment to the military. His brother, Mycroft, recognized the code used to hack into the network. He turned his brother in. Tristian Holmes was convicted of treason. His transport vehicle was involved in an accident on the way to the prison. There was a fire and Tristian was killed.” William Tanner read the information off to Bond.

“How was the body identified?” Bond asked.

“DNA.” Tanner said.

“I need a photo.” Bond said.

“Get a photo of Tristian Holmes sent to Bond, immediately. What do you have, Bond?” M asked.

“I believe Tristian Holmes is still alive. Tristian Holmes is Query.”

Tanner quickly looked at M. The woman’s mouth pushed down into an exaggerated pout. She had received a message that Mycroft Holmes wanted to speak to her.

“What makes you say that?” M asked hoping Bond was just confused, but given she knew Holmes was on his way over to see her right now, she didn’t believe so.

“Sherlock Holmes has identified Robert Frobisher as Tristian.” Bond explained.

“Sherlock!? The interfering bastard.” M hissed. “Damn it, how did he see him?”

“He and Doctor John Watson are here too. They tried to take Q from away from me. They are downstairs right now. Q admitted Mycroft helped him escape.”

“Mycroft Holmes! That slimily bugger. When he gets here tell him to wait! Let him cool his heels.” M shouted. “Bond don’t return to London. I want you to keep that young man away from his brother. Can you lose Sherlock?”

“I will have to relocate but yes.”

The mobile pinged with a texted message. Bond looked at the photo sent to him from TSS.

“This is the man I have in custody.” Bond said as he looked at a ten year old photo of Tristian Holmes. “I can get him out of here and leave the detective and doctor behind.”

“Then do so. Do not injury Sherlock Holmes or John Watson, but slow them down. I want Tristian Holmes isolate and secured. Let us know where you are when you land.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bond disconnected the call just as the bathroom door opened. Q stepped out with a towel wrapped low over his hips. He was towel drying his hair, looking up at Bond through dark eyelashes.

“Would you have any clean clothes for me?” Q asked.

Bond’s eyes traveled over the smooth pale skin. The long lines of unblemished skin. Bond felt his mouth water slightly. A pull of desire as his eyes remained on the younger man. Q waited but Bond said nothing. Q raised an eyebrow questioning.

“Clothes? Try the wardrobe. There should be different sizes.” Bond glanced away.

~Q~

John was pacing around the room. He felt trapped. The windows were bolted with wooden shutters over them. He couldn’t open them to look out. He couldn’t let fresh air in. It was like he was in a giant box, unable to escape.

Sherlock sat quietly in a chair. His fingers steeple under his chin. His mind adrift, appearing unaware of anything going on around him. John envied him at the moment. He wished he could disappear into his mind too. Forget all the pain he was about to cause his wife and himself. He knew he loved his Mary. He knew he wanted the child she was carrying, but he was just as certain that he couldn’t live without Sherlock. Last night, when he finally let his walls down, the torrent of emotions overwhelmed him. He was in love with Sherlock and he just wanted to spend the rest of his life proving it. But it would also destroy the other two people he loved.

John heard the footsteps as Bond and Q came down the stairs. He turned to see the two had changed clothes since he had seen them last. Bond glanced between John and Sherlock, before he stepped over to the kitchen and checked on the coffee pot.

“I would prefer tea, if you have it.” Q said following Bond into the kitchen.

“Second cupboard left of the refrigerator.” John said. Bond glance over his shoulder at the man, then went to the cabinet John had mentioned. He pulled out a box of tea and set it on the counter.

“You can fix it yourself. I’m not your valet.” Bond said to Q.

“No, you’re my captor.”

“Apparently, we all are.” Sherlock said. He lowered his hands from his face but remained sitting.

“What makes you think that?” Bond asked.

Sherlock unfolded his crossed legs and stood up gracefully in one smooth movement. He walked across the room and paused directly in front of his younger brother.

“James Moriarty was an insane genius who sole purpose in life was to cause pain and destruction.” Sherlock said calmly and coldly.

Q reaction was quick and violent. He slapped Sherlock’s face hard. The older brother stood calmly, his hands clasped together behind his back. But Bond noticed how the hands flexed and Holmes fought to keep them together and not defend himself. John came rushing forward.

“No, John.” Sherlock said forcefully as he returned his gaze back to the younger Holmes. “I was proving a point.”

“And what point is that, you pompous arse!” Q hissed.

“That you have gone through some sort of indoctrination.” Sherlock answered.

“Brainwashing?! Seriously? That’s the best you can come up with? Not that my brothers are emotionless bastard who wouldn’t give a damn if I was alive or dead, but that I was brainwashed by . . . who? Moran? Jim?” Q voice became anxious.

“The idea has come to you too. You are fighting it because you fear it could have happened. You allowed your brilliant mind to be manipulated.” Sherlock said as he remained still in front of Q.

“No. Jim wouldn’t do that to me. He cared about me.” Q slowly shook his head.

Bond stepped closer. He reached out and laid his hand on Q’s shoulder.

“Remember what you told me last night. Muller and the torture.”

Q’s eyes flashed with anger at Bond. His lips thinned.

“Don’t you tell them! I’ll kill you is you repeat what I said last night.”

Bond ignored the man’s threats. “It was the perfect set up. You were physical and psychologically tortured for over a year by Muller. Then Moriarty came and ‘rescued’ you. Saved you from the monster. Of course you would think of him as your savoir. How could you not fall in love with him?”

“No . . . no . . . he cared about me. He told me.” Q began to shake.

Sherlock took a step forward to embrace his brother. Q pushed him away. He side stepped Bond’s hand and rushed out of the room and up the stairs. The three men watched as Q escaped.

“How did you know?” John asked Sherlock. “How did you know he was tortured and brainwashed?”

“It was the only thing to explain the change in him. Tristian was always an honest person. He believed the world was black and white. Shades of grey were rationalizations. Isn’t it obvious? Mycroft’s betrayal, my absence from his life at that time. Then whoever this Muller person is that Bond mentioned. Moriarty knew the best way to make Tristian devoted to him was to make himself the hero. The protector.”

Bond glanced over at the detective. How many times had he done the exact same thing? Convinced a frightened woman or a weak man that Bond could save them. That he would be the one to free them from their personal hells. Bond felt nauseous. He walked away from Sherlock and John, and followed Q up the stairs.

Bond found Q standing in the middle of the room they had shared the night before. Q’s arms were wrapped tightly around his body as he stared at the computer screens. He seemed very young to Bond. Very frightened.

“Q?” Bond stepped closer. He didn’t want to scare the young man worse than he already was. Q said nothing, he just kept staring forward. “You aren’t the first person who made the mistake of falling in love with the wrong person.”

“I wasn’t brainwashed.” Q said firmly.

“I’m not sure what happened to you. But you don’t impress me as being someone who would purposefully harm people.”

Q twisted and looked Bond straight in the eye. “Why? Because I’m not muscular? I don’t carry a gun? I’m just as lethal as you, James Bond. I’m even more dangerous!”

Bond took another step forward, waiting for the young man to flee.

“Why is it so important to you to prove you are dangerous?”

“I can do more damage with my computer while in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year.”

“Is that really important?” Bond didn’t doubt the young man’s statement. “Is that something you are proud of?”

“I want to be taken serious. I want people to fear me.”

Bond stepped closer. “If people feared you then you will be lonely. Is that what you truly want? To be alone?”

“I . . . I want . . .” Q twisted away from Bond and fell into the upholstered chair. “Jim love me. He told me. He didn’t lie to me . . .”

Bond moved slowly to the other chair and sat down. “I loved someone once. She told me what I wanted to believe. I gave up everything for her. She betrayed me.”

“Did she kill herself too?” Q asked bitterly.

“Yes. She made me watch.” Bond answered as calmly as he could.

“Oh . . . I . . .” Q looked away from Bond. He felt guilty and raw. He didn’t want to believe Jim would hurt him. He never asked Q do anything against his will. Q wanted to help Jim. He wanted Jim to be proud of him. “Please tell me what happened-if you can.”

Bond didn’t want to talk about Vesper. He hadn’t really spoken to anyone about her. Even ten years later it was still a gabbing wound that wouldn’t heal. He wasn’t even sure why he had mentioned her to the younger man.

“She was being blackmailed. I thought she was innocent, untainted. I guess I was the one who was naïve instead of her. I fell for her. I would have done anything for her. Or I would have up to the point I realized she betrayed me. In the end, she died to protect me. To keep me away from those who were blackmailing her.”

Q turned slowly and watched Bond as he explained Vesper to him. The young man’s expression softened and opened up. Bond was suddenly taken by how much Vesper and Q looked alike. Small and thin framed. Dark hair and creamy pale skin. Green eyes that were warm and inviting. A sudden need to protect filled Bond. The same protectiveness he had for the woman.

“Did you ever forgive her?” Q asked.

“Eventually.”

“Did it make it easier? I mean did the pain of her death stop hurting?”

“Not completely.” Bond answered truthfully.

“Do you think she brainwashed you?”

“I think, regardless of how it started, by the end we were in love with each other. It’s the only way I can live with it.”

Q watched Bond for several minutes then nodded. “Thank you. I think I can live with that.”

Bond listened to the ‘thank you’. It was stronger this time than it was the night before. Less self-loathing but still doubtful. It was a start.

~Q~

Mary Morstan Watson sat on the park bench, tilting her face up to the sun. It was November but today the sun was shining and it felt wonderful on her face. Mary smiled. In less than a month the baby would be born and she would so entrenched in her life of wife and mother, no one would come looking for her again. She was safe. Her past was her past and future was with John Watson. She was happy.

Mary pulled out her phone and pulled the calendar app up. She reviewed the dates. Four weeks to her due date. That would be around Christmas. Then when the baby was six months old they could go for walks in the park and lay on a blanket and look up at the sky through the trees. The deep blue summer sky. Blue like John’s eyes. So warm and loving.

Mary closed her eyes again and raised her face to the sun.

“Hello, Abigail.” The voice was gruff and deep. Mary had heard it before. She knew who it was before she opened her eyes.

“Colonel.” Mary said softly. Opening her eyes she looked up at the blonde standing next to the bench. His eyes were watery grey and lifeless.

“I have a project for you, Abigail.”

“I’m retired.” Mary said. Fear spiking quickly through her body.

“Not anymore.” Sebastian Moran smiled at Mary Watson.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is thinking about a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful comments and support. This story is coming slowly but hopefully I will have more time soon to write it.

Red Grant was of Irish extraction. He had been in the British army and served with distinction up till the point he murdered his commanding officer. ‘ _The bastard deserved it_ ’ was Grant’s defense at his court-martial. The prosecution called him a psychopath with paranoid tendencies. He didn’t know what that meant; he just liked killing people. Grant was convicted and was supposed to have been in prison for the rest of his life, but he killed a guard and escaped before his transport could return him to England.

He fled Afghanistan and ended up in Russia. There he fell in with the Russian Mafia. Bratva. It had been good work and he was moving up in the organization. The operations were interesting and varied and he was able to use the skills the military had taught him. Then one night he got drunk. He used a knife on a prostitute; she didn’t survive till morning. Nothing would have been done about it. The police were in the pocket of the organization. But the woman was the favorite of the head man. Grant fled Moscow just in front of the hit squad sent to kill him.

In Germany, he ran into Sebastian Moran. Moran and his boss, James Moriarty, were recruiting a young computer hacker when they offered a job to Grant, too. Grant didn’t like the hacker from the moment he first met him. He was too fragile looking, too smart. The kid was always nervous and kept looking around himself like a frighten rabbit. Moriarty seemed to like the kid and made him his fuck buddy. Grant didn’t care what the boss did with the man as long as he didn’t have to watch.

Moran became Grant’s mentor. The older soldier took Grant under his wing and taught him how to control his urges. When to let the beast out and when to keep it undercover. There were more prostitutes who were murdered, but there was no evidence to lead it back to the Irishman. Grant respected Moran and trusted him. He was enjoying himself within Moriarty’s crime network. He didn’t learn the names of the member on his team. He thought if they survived a year with him, then they were worth the effort to learn their names. Many died before the year was up and Grant was relieved it was one less name for him to learn.

Then the boss died. Killed on a rooftop in London. Grant had to restrain Moran from going after the man responsible. He literally kidnapped Moran and hid him in Dublin for a month until the heat calmed down. Fortunately, the press considered it closed. Moriarty was dead and the detective who was after him was dead. So the two blondes could travel just a few weeks later without worrying they were being followed. Their first stop was Rome. That’s where everything fell apart.

Grant had kept an eye on the criminal network, thinking Moran would take it over. Moran was busy dealing with that idiot hacker. Moran became moon-eyed over the boy and Grant hated the little twerp even more. He was put in charge of Frobisher’s protection. Ordered to follow the boy everywhere he went. Grant felt it was a waste of his skills. He was a soldier, not a babysitter. But Moran insisted, leaving Grant to follow the man he just wanted to gut.

Grant sat in the dirty office waiting for his contact as he thought about the hacker. Moran had wasted his time with the kid instead of paying attention to the business. While he was trying to get the kid to suck off his cock, Moran let Moriarty’s criminal empire fall apart. Now, just as they were preparing to take over again, the kid runs off with the stranger. And instead of concentrating on Renard and the deals they had going, Moran was off looking for the bastard.

Moran and Grant had a vicious argument about the boy. Moran insisted that Frobisher had been kidnapped, while Grant said he had gone willingly with the British agent. Grant still felt that way, even after Moran had pushed the barrel of his Ruger into the Grant’s mouth, chipping the man’s tooth in the process. Grant had even more reason to hate the hacker. He wished the kid was dead. It would be a favor to Moran if he killed Frobisher, Grant thought. Maybe that would be what he would do. Kill the kid while the boss is waiting for him to return to England. Grant could catch him and British agent here in France and kill them both. Then he would tell Moran, it was the agent who killed his fuck-toy and Grant killed the agent. That way Grant would be done with the hacker and still come out of it with his boss’s gratitude.

Grant smiled when the door opened and the man walked in with information about the whereabouts of the agent and the kid.

~Q~

Mycroft Holmes glared at Tanner as the man explained he needed to wait. That M was in a conference call and could not be disturbed.

“I don’t care if she is having tea with the Queen. I need to speak to her now!” Mycroft demanded.

“I am sorry sir, you are asked to wait.” Tanner said. The younger man held his ground. He had to deal with double ‘O’s on a regular basis so he was prepared for the demanding politician.

“New information has come to light regarding 007’s mission.”

Tanner was not as well trained as Bond and his facial expression changed slightly. Mycroft Holmes caught the shift in Tanner and leapt on it.

“You know, don’t you? M knows? When were you going to inform me!?” Mycroft started to interrogate Tanner.

“Sir, it appears you are also aware of the true identity of the individual known as Robert Frobisher. There was no need for us to inform you. The real question is how long have you known and why didn’t you inform us?”

“That is irrelevant. I want Frobisher brought to me immediately.”

“The individual in question is still in 007 custody. He will remain so until he is turned over to MI6.” Tanner said calmly.

The Chief of Staff’s demeanor was only antagonizing Mycroft. “I want to speak to M, now!”

Tanner gave a polite smile and said. “I will inform her you are waiting.”

Twenty minutes later Holmes was let into the woman’s office. He was beyond furious. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth. M remained sitting as he stormed into her office. A small smile kept trying to break through her expression. Holmes didn’t sit. He stood in front of her desk, towering over the small woman. She wasn’t intimidated. Other’s had tried this technique and failed.

“Mycroft?” She asked pleasantly. “Would you like to sit?”

“Where is Bond with Frobisher?” Mycroft demanded ignoring her request.

M leaned back in her seat and looked up at him. Her bright blue eyes twinkling.

“Frobisher? You mean Tristian Holmes?”

Mycroft’s face darkened even more. He leaned back and tipped his chin up, stretching his neck.

“Where is my brother?” Mycroft asked trying to keep his voice level.

“007 has him contained in France. He will remain there until I order his return.”

Mycroft stared carefully at the woman. He finally took a seat and leaned deep into the leather.

“And when will you give the order? What do you want?”

“Tristian Holmes was convicted of treason. He is a traitor to his country. He has been convicted and will serve his time in prison.”

“He exposed two moles within the Secret Service.”

“He released top secret information on the internet.”

“He saw a wrong and corrected it. He is an honorable man.” Mycroft said bowing his head slightly.

M studied the man for a moment then said. “Not a trait normally found in traitors.”

“No. My brothers see a battlefield that most people do not. It is the same battlefield your agents fight in. We have already discussed the fact that Sherlock was a surgical scalpel and not the blunt instrument as your operatives. Imagine what Tristian could be if given the chance.”

“Are you offering up your brother to the Secret Service?” M asked wondering what Mycroft was planning.

“It would be better to utilize Tristian than to incarcerate him.”

M nodded her head. The politician was correct and if she helped Mycroft Holmes then he would be indebted to her. And having Mycroft Holmes in her corner would be invaluable.

“I will order Bond to return with the suspect.” M said calmly.

“And deliver him into my hands.” Mycroft said quickly.

“He will be held here in MI6’s cells until we decide his future.”

Mycroft stared at the small woman across the desk from him. He considered how much he could demand and how much he should relinquish. He weighted his options; getting his long lost brother home to his family or being in debt to M? Could he free his brother from MI6 if he let them bring him in? Could he protect his brother within MI6? Mycroft considered his options, then hesitantly nodded his head, yes.

~Q~

Mary paced around the sitting room of her and John’s flat. Her hand protectively wrapped around her belly. John was not answering his phone. She had called him twice and texted him at least a dozen times. Where were they? Moran would be calling soon.

Her head was beginning to hurt and she felt sick to her stomach. Every fiber in her being was telling her to run. Just disappear. She had done it before, she could do it again. Granted it wouldn’t be as easy as it was when she was not pregnant, but she could still do it. But what about John? Could she leave John? Or could she convince him to come with her?

That would be better. Convince John to leave London and the Holmes. He would only get hurt if he stayed with them. It was obvious that Moran was planning something evil. He had demanded Mary tell him when Sherlock Holmes had returned and who was with the detective. Mary couldn’t think who was so important to the ex-soldier but she knew she couldn’t trust him. She had to flee with John and baby. It was the only way. If only John would answer his phone.

~Q~

Bond knew they needed to be moving. He had been given a direct order to leave Holmes and Watson behind and take Q someplace else. Q was sitting in the chair in the bedroom as Bond paced around the room. The brunette’s eyes watched the other man as he moved.

“You’re going to leave Sherlock here, aren’t you?” Q asked.

James paused and looked at the younger man. “Why do you think that?”

“Mycroft won’t want Sherlock’s interference. He will demand you leave him here.”

“I do not work for your brother. Either one of them. Right now, I’m finding the entire Holmes family to be a pain in the arse.”

Q laughed softly. It was the first time Bond had heard the young man make such a sound. It was pleasant. Almost musical in quality. James returned a smile without thinking.

“Yes, I’m aware of the fact that you are not the first person to make that comment.”

“Honestly, what was your childhood like with Mycroft and Sherlock for brothers?” James asked.

“Well, with the exception of the occasional appearance of the police because of something Sherlock had done, rather ordinary. Our father was a banker and our mother was professor at Imperial. Math. We grew up in a house with a garden and dog for a pet. Summers in southern France. Skiing in Switzerland. And you?”

James baulked for a moment. Then felt comfortable in opening up the expectant face.

“I learned to ski in Switzerland too. Eton then Dartmouth.”

Q smiled again. “I thought you would have gone to Sandhurst. Were you actually in the navy?”

“For a while.”

“And your family?” Q asked.

“I don’t have any family. Orphan.” James wasn’t sure why he was being so truthful to the man.

“I’m sorry. It must have been very lonely.”

“It was fine. I prefer to be alone.” James replied.

“I never wanted to be alone, but ended up that way.”

“You were Moriarty’s lover. You worked with Moran. Why do say you were alone?”

“Sometimes you can be in the middle of crowd and still be alone. Even when I was with Jim, I felt alone. I guess I never felt like I belonged anywhere since I was exiled from England.” Q bowed his head.

“Do you want to return to England?”

“Yes, but if I do, I will be immediately imprisoned. So my choices are two. Living alone or living in jail. Either way it is a prison and isolation.”

Bond studied the young man’s face for a few moments.

“I need to leave your brother and his friend here. I know a place I can take you too that no one will look for you. It’s not England but it is close.”

Q glanced up and blinked at the man several times. The thought of finally getting back across the Channel was almost too much to hope for.

“Where?”

“Scotland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may think that some of the next few chapters feel familiar. I had a story called Lovers and Secrets I just could never finish. I took it down several weeks ago. I have gone back and taken some of the dialog and plot line from that story and incorporated it here. So you are right. It is familiar.


	13. Chapter13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John spend another night together.

Sherlock stepped into the semi-lite bedroom. It was late. John had already retired hours before. Sherlock moved as quietly into the room as he could. He could hear the soft breathing of the man asleep in the bed. Moving as noiselessly as he could, Sherlock stepped near the bed and sat down the edge. The small lamp on the bedside table was on and the yellowish light shined across John’s relaxed features.

Slowly, Sherlock brought up his hand and let his fingers ghost over John’s jawline and back across his skull. Sherlock was entranced by the man’s face. The calm, confident expression. He wished John was awake. He wanted to kiss him again. To taste him. He wanted to feel John’s arms wrap around him and listen to John’s voice tell him everything would be alright. It was all fine.

But it wasn’t fine. Sherlock’s brother was a wanted criminal who was closely associated with the Consulting Criminal. Mycroft had lied about Tristian to not only Sherlock but to their parents. And John, his wonderful, brilliant John, was still married to Mary and soon to have a baby with her. John was an honorable man. He wouldn’t just up and abandon Mary for Sherlock. John had even remained beside her after he learned that Mary had shot Sherlock. Of course, Sherlock would come second in John’s order of priorities, the detective thought. He didn’t even begrudge Mary her place in John’s life, but that didn’t take the pain away knowing that one day and soon he would have to let John go completely.

Sherlock rested his hand a little firmer on John’s scalp and his fingers played with the greying hair.

John gave a soft mew, then blinked his eyes. “Sherr’ock?” John slurred the man’s name.

“Hush, John. Go back to sleep.” Sherlock whispered.

John shifted and tried to sit up but the effort seemed too great.

“No, what is it? What time is it?”

“It’s past three in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

John sighed and opened his eyes wider. A sleepy relaxed smile came to John’s face.

“Com’ ere.” He mumbled. Sherlock didn’t move; he just kept looking down into John’s open face. “Come ‘ere. I want to kiss you.”

The sudden spark of desire burned quickly through Sherlock. He hesitated for only a second and then leaned down and kissed his friend. His lover. It was warm and soft. A smooth slide of lips and shared breath. John’s arms slipped around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled the man closer. John deepened the kiss, asking for more.

Sherlock shifted and stretched out beside the man. His hand searching out John’s body hidden under the covers. Sherlock’s fingers stroked across bed warm skin. John was naked and wanting.

“I had a dream about you.” John whispered next to Sherlock’s lips. “I dreamed you tracked me down. Cornered me against a wall. Took me. Hard and fast, and all I did was beg you to do more.”

Sherlock groaned and pushed closer to John. The blonde started to kiss down Sherlock’s long neck, accentuating the feel with the occasional nip of his teeth.

“John, I’ve wanted you for so long.” Sherlock shivered.

“I’m right here, Sherlock. You only have to reach out for me.” There was a soft laugh in John’s voice. An undercurrent of playfulness.

“John, please. Will you let me . . . can I have you?” Sherlock didn’t want to think how much it sounded like he was begging.

“If you don’t fuck me now, I may have to tie you down and climb on top of you.”

Sherlock struggled to undress himself while he still lied next to John in the bed. The doctor didn’t help with his constant assault of kisses and bites against Sherlock’s lips and neck. Sherlock finally gave up and stood up to strip out of his clothes. He let them fall ungracefully to the floor. Stepping out of the pile and lifting the covers to crawl in next to John.

John’s body was sleep warm next to Sherlock’s chilled skin. He felt like comfort and pleasure. Safety and protection. Sherlock could spend the rest of his life wrapped in this man’s arms.

“Will you ride me?” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear.

John groaned and bite down hard on Sherlock’s shoulder. The brunette arched up into John’s mouth and gasped. He fought to control his thumping heart. It was beating so hard, he thought for moment his ribs would break from the pressure.

“Oh, God, yes.” John groaned.

The rush of adrenaline those three words always gave Sherlock was better than any drug he had ever used. He could feel his cock twitch between their bodies and the smear of precum against his skin. Sherlock pushed himself up slightly to lean against the headboard. He reached over for the lotion. Then smeared his fingers with the cream and watched as John positioned himself over Sherlock’s hand.

With one finger, he slowly pierced the blonde. Watching as John’s eyes closed and sighed deeply the farther Sherlock pushed in. John lifted his body slightly and let Sherlock’s finger draw out. Then he lowered himself back down. For several minutes, Sherlock was transfixed, watching John fuck himself on Sherlock’s single digit. The soft moans and heavy breathing surrounding the two of them.

“More Sherlock . . . give me more.” John pleaded softly.

Sherlock slipped another finger in then twisted them. John bit into his lower lip. Dragging his teeth across the swollen tissue. Sherlock scissor his fingers and watched intently as John started moving faster. Pumping up and down on the fingers.

Carefully, Sherlock opened John up. He waited for John to decide when it was time to progress to his cock. The doctor opened his eyes and looked down hungrily at the brunette. John’s pink tongue slipped out between his lips and licked at the lower one. Sherlock’s mind short circuited with the image of that tongue lapping at his own member. He wondered if he could talk John into sucking him off.

_‘No, no,’_ he said in his mind. ‘ _Focus on John’s pleasure, now. Focus.’_

“Please John, are you ready?” Sherlock tried to not plead.

John smiled and knelt up, letting Sherlock’s fingers slip from his body. John positioned himself over the other man’s lap and reached behind him to grab Sherlock’s throbbing length. With Sherlock’s hands resting on his hips to guide him, John slowly descended. The resistance was more than Sherlock had expected. He could see the discomfort in John’s face as the man tilted his head back to elongate his body. Sherlock remained perfectly still while John shifted. There was sudden pop as the glans passed through the ring of muscles and into John’s body.

John took a deep breath and held very still, then he slowly released the breath and let Sherlock slide deeper into him. The sheer intensity of the moment was breathtaking. Sherlock couldn’t remove his eyes from John’s face. John’s face tilted up, his eyes closes while his mouth was agape. A deep satisfying moan released from deep inside the blonde.

They moved slowly together. John tilted his head down to stare intently into Sherlock’s silvery blue eyes. John’s hands grasped the headboard on either side of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock’s hands moved slowly over the doctor’s heated body.

“John, you are so gorgeous. So perfect.” Sherlock whispered as John shifted and rotated his hips as he slid down Sherlock’s shaft. The dark haired man moaned and squeezed his fingers tighter into John’s flesh.

“You’re big . . .” John moaned, as he drew back up before sliding forcefully down. He leaned forward and swallowed Sherlock grunt with a kiss.

If anything, tonight was more intense than the night before. The fuel burning this fire was passion instead of fear. An even greater emotional wave washed over them. Sherlock wanted more. He needed to possess John. To leave his mark on the man so when John finally left him for Mary, there would be a reminder for both of them to remember this moment. This shared moment of them.

Sherlock grabbed John waist tightly and lifted the smaller man up. He twisted the two of them and deposited John back on the bed, face up. Before John could complain, Sherlock was reentering him. John yelped as Sherlock took ruthless control of him. Speeding up his thrusts and bruising into John’s prostate with each lunge. The air was punched out of John’s lungs and he felt his limbs go weak.

He was Sherlock’s. Body and soul possessed and controlled by the man. John should have been frightened by the power of the man. The pure animal intensity. But instead, John felt loved, cherished, treasured. He knew in that very moment that Sherlock had taken over his body and was pushing him harder than any other lover ever had, that Sherlock would give everything he was to John. He would protect and care for the man with his dying breath. His single happiness was Sherlock’s world.

The climax was overwhelming. Like his very existence was being pulled out of him.

“Sherlock! Love!” John couldn’t help himself. He shouted he climax. Sherlock grunting as John’s channel closed rhythmically down around him.

Pushing himself to keep going, Sherlock continued to rock into John through the man’s orgasm. The pressure and heat of John’s body overpowering Sherlock and pulling him along into his own release. The feel of himself pulsating within the grip of John’s body. Sherlock collapsed onto of John. The blonde’s arms wrapping carefully around the exhausted detective.

Sherlock didn’t care about anything else now. He didn’t think about his brothers, or Moriarty, or Mary. He didn’t care about tomorrow or returning to England. All that mattered now, was John. He and John were together. They were one. Anything else didn’t matter.

~Q~

Bond woke with start. It was dark and the only light was from the glow of the computer screens. He glanced around the room quickly. His hand already moving to the grip of the gun as the blanket slipped down his body. The young man was still asleep in the bed. His slight frame covered up by the duvet. The room was quiet. There was nothing he could immediately identify as the reason he had woken up.

Bond pushed himself back up into the overstuffed chair he had been sleeping in. The wool blanket had slipped to the floor and was pooled around his feet. He rubbed his eyes again and looked to see if everything was still okay. If he had missed anything. Q was softly snoring, a light snuffling sound. The computer screens were flickering. A black and white video from the infrared cameras outside the house. There was a pale light coming in from under the door that led to the hallway. Across the hallway were Holmes and Watson. Maybe they had made some sound that had woken the agent.

Bond stood up and stretched. He had slept in the damn chair for two nights now. His body was aching and his back was complaining to him. He went to the bed and stood over Q. The young man was sound asleep. In the muted light, his features were dulled and unclear. Bond could make out the boy’s plumb lips and sharp jawline, but the details of the face were lost. Bond’s mind filled in the specifics. The dark eyelashes over jade green hazel eyes. The pale skin with the sex little birthmark low on the left cheek.

Q was a remarkable looking man. Some would even say beautiful. His dark wavy hair and his pale elfin face. The man’s thin wiry body that gave both the impression of frailty and strength. Q was intelligent, that was beyond question but he also seemed to be passionate too. Not every decision was made with logic. Sometimes Q seemed to react with emotion. Q was a puzzle that Bond wish he had the time to investigate and solve. There seemed to be limitless depths within the young man that he wanted to explore.

Suddenly, the sound of an alarm was heard in the room. An electronic warning. Q woke up immediately, seeing Bond standing over him. The young man’s eyes were large and even though he didn’t have his glasses on he recognized the blonde.

Bond paused for a moment when he was caught watching the man. Without saying a word he turned and went to the desk and looked at the computer screens. He expect to see an animal or stray driver had triggered the alarm on security perimeter. Q threw the covers off him and grabbed his eyeglasses. He pushed them on his face and followed Bond over to the screens.

The two men saw a dark SUV slowly traveling down the dirt road that led directly to the farm house. It was off the main road and no other roads led off it. Either the SUV was lost or they were coming to the house. The vehicle parked about a hundred feet from the building and four men got out, dressed in black camo gear. Q immediately recognized the driver.

“That’s Grant.” Q whispered.

“The man from the gardens?” Bond asked.

“Yes, he’s here to take me back.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The farm house after Grant gets there.

Grant had handpicked the three men with him. There were all ex-military. Two Russians and one American. Trained by himself with loyalty to Grant and not Moran. He was enjoying the power, being the boss. The three men would do as they were told ruthlessly and never tell Moran what actually was planned for tonight. He had gotten the intel on where to find the little bastard from the mole within the British Secret Service. If everything went according to plan, Grant would be free of that scrawny computer geek and be one step closer to taking over the organization from Moran.

The idea of taking it over had never really played much inside the psychopath’s head, but since Frobisher had gone off with the British agent and Moran was wasting time chasing the boy, Grant saw the need to be in charge. The organization functioned best with a cool head at the top. Like when Moriarty was in charge. He ran it perfectly and still was able to fuck whomever he chose. Grant would take over and be like Moriarty. But he wouldn’t waste his spunk on the likes of Robert Frobisher not when there were so many whores who needed his attention.

That was what Grant was thinking as the Toyota Landcruiser turned off the main road and down the narrow gravel drive to the house. The tall trees blocked the view of the farm house from the road and it wasn’t until they were at the gate did they see the dilapidated building. Turing off the engine, the four men got out of the car and checked their weapons.

There were no lights anywhere. The windows of the house were black. The American put on a set of night vision goggles. He turned his head as his eyes swept the area.

“Nothing sir. Old farm equipment, a falling down barn to the right, crumbling wall a meter high, fifteen meters from the house. Are you positive this is the location?” The American was tall and broad in the shoulders with unnaturally white teeth. He had a deep West Coast tan that seemed to make one drop his IQ level by ten points.

“Of course I’m bloody positive of the location!” Grant growled lowly. His mind began to wonder if maybe he had made a mistake about the man and he should shoot him as well as Frobisher and the agent. That would make the scenario more believable for Moran if some of Grant’s men also died tonight. Grant let a curl come to the corner of his mouth. “Yuri, set the IED on the front door. It should take down most of the house. If anyone comes out alive, shoot to kill.”

The three men nodded their heads and pulled the actions back on the AK-47’s. The Russian known as Yuri examined the package of explosives that was to be used. Then each man nodded to the others and started a slow and measured walk towards the house.

~Q~

John and Sherlock woke the sound of someone pounding on the bedroom door. John threw himself out of the bed and crashed to the floor.

“INCOMING!” he shouted.

Sherlock was sitting up in the bed watching as John took several moments to realize he was in a farm house in France and not in the desert of Afghanistan.

“John?” Sherlock asked carefully.

“Okay. I’m here. Just give me a moment.” John stood up on shaky legs. His heart was pounding and he was forcing himself to slow his breathing.

A second round of pounding on the bedroom door.

“We have company!” James shouted through the wooden door.

Sherlock and John rushed to get dressed.

James and Q were already heading down the stairs. The house’s silence was broken by the various muted alarms going off on the computers notifying the occupants of the trespassers outside. Bond’s eyes flicked over to the screen and saw a man right at the locked front door. Bond involuntarily glanced at the disguised door. It was still locked and impossible for the men to get through. He looked back at the computer screen and watched as the man outside the door placed some grey molding clay on the door handle. Bond recognized it immediately. Plastic. More than was necessary to open the door. It was enough to bring the house down.

Bond saw the man push in the detonator and run from the door. He and Q were still standing on the stairs. Partially hidden by the floor above the large room of the ground floor. Bond twisted and grabbed Q. Covering the smaller man with his own body.

The room was enveloped in bright light and the swoosh of the explosion. The blast caused the men’s ears to ring as the heat rushed past them. Anyone who would have been standing in the large room of the farm house would have been killed instantly. The front of the building folded in and collapsed. The sound of splitting timbers and breaking plaster could be heard after explosion. Dust and debris filled the air. Q was coughing as James wrapped himself around the younger man. Holding Q tight to his body and pulling Q’s face into James’ chest. Q screams added to the cacophony of sound.

Sherlock and John had been knocked off their feet on the first floor. They both reached for each other, holding and protecting. When the initial blast was over they quickly started to check for injuries. Bond glanced up and saw John patting Sherlock down.

“Watson!” Bond called out. John looked down at the man kneeling on the stair just in time to see Bond toss the doctor’s Sig up to him. John checked it and pulled the action back to load a round in the chamber.

The bedroom James and Q had been sharing was destroyed. Sheered away from the house. The main floor of the building was covered with broken walls and debris. Smoke and dust hung around the men. Flashes and sparks came from the torn and exposed electrical wiring. Through the white light, James saw the one of attackers, dressed in black, aim an AK-47 at him. Bond brought his gun up and fired wildly. Barely having a chance to aim, he hit the man in the shoulder. The killer’s body twisted with the punch of the bullet. He kept his finger on the trigger of the machine gun, shooting uncontrollably. The spray of bullets arched away from him. He hit one of his partners. Bond fired again, killing the first man.

A third man opened fire with another machine gun. Before Bond could shift his gun to shoot the man, a gun fired over their heads. John Watson stood on the steps just above Bond and Q. His right arm extended with the black pistol in his hand. The doctor killed the man with one shot.

“Let’s go!” Bond said and he stood up, pulling Q to his feet.

The four men stumbled down the crumbling staircase into the remains of the blown out building. They crawled over the destruction and out into the fresh air outside. The sparking wires had lit some of the debris and a fire was starting. Bond pushed Q in front of him as he glanced at the dead men on the ground.

“GO! GET TO THE CAR!” Bond shouted as Q stumbled.

Q went running towards the barn. It was only a few hundred feet away in the dark. Sherlock and John were behind him by a dozen feet, Bond about another thirty feet behind them.

“Stop right there!” Grant shouted at Q. “Nowhere for you to hide now!”

The blonde Irishman was standing in front of the young man, blocking his way to the barn. His Ruger handgun was pointed at Q’s skull. The three other men pulled up short. Grant hadn’t seen them yet. Bond glanced at Q. He could see the absolute fear in the man’s expression.

“Are you going to take me back to Moran?” Q asked his voice breaking with fear. Bond could see the young man was shaking.

“He told me to bring you back but I’ll have to tell him you got shot here. I’ll blame that British agent and Moran will believe me.”

The gun shot was loud. Almost deafening. Grant fell backwards. A bullet hole in his chest and another in his forehead. Both James and John had fired simultaneously. Q wavered slightly just as Bond reached him. He looked like he was going to faint. Bond wrapped his arms around the young man as Q buried his face into Bond’s neck and tried to regain his composure.

Bond pulled Q along and to the barn. He maneuvered him into the backseat with John. Sherlock got into the passenger seat and Bond behind the steering wheel. The car sped down the dirt road and towards the main highway as the flames of the burning farmhouse lit up the night sky.

~Q~

Mary looked at the photo of her target. Moran had to be insane. This was impossible. ‘ _What the hell was he thinking?’_ she thought to herself. She picked up the folder and scanned the few pages inside. Addresses of home and club, as if she didn’t already know that. The schedule that he occasionally maintained. The name of his driver and type of car that picked him up every day and delivered him to his office, when he didn’t spend the night there.

The target was secured. He was well guarded and next to impossible to get next too. Her options were few. Her chances of success were even less. Mary closed the file and looked up. Across the room was the framed portrait of her and John on their wedding day. They both looked so happy. So innocent.

Mary dragged her hand over her round belly, and the child inside her. She should run. She should grab John and flee this nightmare Moran was pulling her into. Leave with her husband and let the Holmes have their final battle with Moran. Keep John and baby safe. That should be her only thought. They could leave England, start over again elsewhere. Maybe, New Zealand. Just disappear. John would do that for her. He told her that her future was his privilege to share.

She looked back down at the file and felt herself hollow out. She knew she couldn’t flee with John. He was too noble to leave his friend behind to face the monsters alone. She was trapped. She either had to kill the target or Moran would come after them. After John. Mary let out of hysterical laugh. Just as Sherlock had been trapped on the roof, forced to jump to save John, she too was trapped. Now being forced to kill someone to save John.

She bowed her head into her hands and started crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta on this story so if you see any glaring mistakes, please let me know. Thank you.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond gets everyone to Skyfall only for disaster to strike.

Bond drove to Amsterdam and boarded the ferry there. It took them across the windswept Channel to Newcastle. There the four men quickly got through immigrations with the false passport Bond supplied for Q.

“Mycroft will know in a matter of minutes that John and I are back in the country.” Sherlock said from the back seat.

Bond glanced up into the rearview mirror.

“He still won’t know where we are going and he won’t be able to follow us there.” Bond said as he turned the car to drive north.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned his attention out the window at the passing scenery.

Bond drove for four more hours till he was deep in the highlands. The rugged countryside was muted in shades of golds and amber bleeding into deep reds. The cloud filled sky swirled with blues and greys, and the occasional smear of green. Bond glanced up at the palette and sighed.

“A storm is coming.”

Q glanced at the man beside him driving, then returned his vision out the front wind screen.

“How do you know?”

“I grew up here. I remember how the sky would change colors with the different weather. It will be raining by the time we get there.”

The car continued north. After another hour the sun had set and the sky was still a deepening grey while rain had turned to sleet. He pulled the vehicle off the narrow paved road and pass two stone pillars. On top of one stood a bronze stag. The other marker was missing from the crumbling pestle. Q’s eyes fixed on the manor house further on in the deep valley. Sparse trees dotted the landscape leading up to the surrounding wall around the house. A broad flat lake was beyond the ancient stone house. The dark and foreboding structure was a sharp contrast to the pale yellow grasses growing up to it.

Bond pulled the car up to the broad oak door and parked it. He stared for a moment at the house before he told everyone to get out. The cold sleet was making their breath visible. Soon it would turn to snow. Q shivered as he glanced around the bleak landscape then up at the gothic building.

“What is this place?” Q asked as Bond stepped up to the door.

“My home.” The blonde said as he opened the door and entered without any fanfare.

The three men stepped in behind Bond. James stood in the foyer, looking around the dark and cold house. The main hall was long and broad with a large square staircase towards the back. Rooms led off the main hall and the large bulky furniture draped under white dust covers could be seen. The windows were shuttered and very little outside light was penetrating into the dark interior.

“This is your home?” Q asked concerned. It didn’t appear anyone lived here.

Bond glanced around and didn’t answer the young man. He stepped further into the house and into one of the large rooms off to the left of the main hall. It was a drawing room of some sort. There was a large stone fire place with a craved mantel. Heavy wrought iron fire grates were already laid with fire wood. Bond stepped closer and reached into the chimney. He found the lever he was looking for and pulled it carefully. The rusty metal shrieked as he opened the flue. On the mantle he found the wooden box of matches. Striking one, he lite the fire. It quickly took and soon was roaring brightly in the dark room.

Bond started pulling the dust covers from the furniture and John quickly joined in to set the room to rights. Sherlock and Q glanced around the old house. The oversized furniture was covered in velvets and heavy brocade fabric. The lamps were crystal and the lampshades pale silk. The floors were bare of carpet, but several different rugs were rolled up and leaning in the corner.

Suddenly the men heard the front door of the house bang open and deep barrow shout carried throughout the house.

“WHO’S IN HERE?”

Bond spun quickly, his hand moving to his shoulder holster in a swift movement. His icy blue eyes quickly identified the owner of the voice. The grizzled burly man with salt and pepper beard holding a menacing 12 ga shotgun.

“Kincade, you’re still alive.” Bond said a slight amount of fondness.

“And still able to sneak up on a whelp like you.” Kincade answered Bond with same amount of affection.

“These are my guest, Kincade. We will be here for a few days.”

The older man glanced between the three other men. James started to introduce them.

“This is John, and Sherlock, and . . .” He glanced at Q. “This is Quincy. Everyone this is Kincade, my father’s game keeper.”

Kincade nodded to each man then back to Bond.

“You only come back when you are in trouble.” Kincade said matter of fact.

Bond didn’t answer him. He just returned to pulling the dust covers from the furniture. John glanced at Bond then back to the old man.

“Mister Kincade.” John held out his hand. “Thank you for welcoming us.” The old man looked sideways at the doctor. John had become use to awkward introduction working with Sherlock. “Is there someplace where we can buy food? It has been a long day and I will need to get cooking soon if we are going to get anything to eat.”

Kincade sighed dramatically and glared back over at Bond.

“So you didn’t even come prepared, you jumped up little fart.”

Bond smiled affectionately but said nothing. Q moved over to stand closer to Bond.

“I’ll tell Patsy and I’ll bring over some stew for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll go into town and get you supplies. The rooms are clean upstairs. Beds are already made and fires laid. Do you need me to start the generator tonight?” asked Kincade.

“Yes, please. I want the hot water heater working. I’ve been driving since before dawn and want to take a hot shower before I go to bed.” Bond finally answered Kincade.

“Alright. Let me call Patsy and then I’ll get the generator running.” Kincade turned and left the room.

Bond and John started to fold the white dust covers and stack them on top of one of long oak tables. The fire place was quickly warming the room and chasing the cold air and darkness away. Q stepped back to the fireplace and looked down at flames. The yellow light warmed the young man and he stretched out his hands to flames. Sherlock watched him for a moment then stepped closer. His eyes moved carefully over his brother’s frame. The older Holmes was trying to assess his younger brother. Determine if there was any difference he could perceive in the man. Sherlock studied his younger brother’s expression. He needed to know the truth.

“How long were you held by Moriarty?” Sherlock asked in a muted voice. He didn’t want John or Bond to hear their conversation.

“I wasn’t held. We worked together.”

“I can’t believe that. You don’t know who he really was. You couldn’t.”

“Why, because I’m too naïve to be involved with a criminal? Maybe I was a criminal too.” Q hissed back at Sherlock.

“I refuse to believe that. You were coerced.”

“I worked willing with him. He was brilliant. He was my friend. I knew him better than anyone.” Q whispered back.

“You knew him! Did you know he blew up a building killing sixteen people, including an elderly blind woman? Did you know he kidnapped two children only to poison them slowly? Did you know he strapped a bomb to John and threatened to blow him up in front of me?!” Sherlock grabbed the arms of his brother, glaring into the man’s hazel green eyes. “He was a psychopath!”

“He was a genius!” Q shouted.

“He was insane!”

James and John turned to see the two brothers arguing. Q stared up at his taller brother, then a small curve came to Q’s lips.

“He defeated you.”

Sherlock leaned back and glanced away quickly. “No, never. He never won our little game.”

“Little game?”

“That’s what he called it. And he didn’t win. I wasn’t defeated.” Sherlock returned his attention to his brother.

“Yes he did.”

“He died.” Sherlock raised his eyebrow. “I don’t call that winning.”

“You had to die too. He forced you to fake your death. You had no other options. He beat you. Even in death, he won.”

Sherlock’s face paled even more. Then he composed himself. “And yet, what does he have to show for it. A destroyed criminal empire. All gone because of a single individual. Me.”

Q now looked like he was the one slapped. “It was you. You’re the one who tore apart all my work.”

“Your work? No, I dismantled Moriarty’s criminal network.”

“It was as much mine as it was his.” Q snapped at his brother.

Sherlock stared dumbfounded at his brother. He stumbled backwards. “It was you. You were his computer expert. You helped plan his crimes. Even after he had you tortured and raped. You willing helped him.”

“Sherlock!” John warned. He stepped towards his friend but Q was already leaping forward to attack.

“HE DIDN’T! HE DIDN’T TRICK ME!” Q shouted as he brought his hands up and around Sherlock’s throat. “He was good to me! He didn’t abandoned me like you did!”

John reached the two Holmes and pushed Q off Sherlock.

“You’re an idiot, Tristian. He fooled you.” Sherlock hissed out as he rubbed the red marks on his throat.

“NO! NO!” Q dashed out of the room and way from Sherlock’s accusations.

Bond watched as Q fled. Quickly chasing after the young man but not before Q made it to the front door and out into the gathering snow storm.

“Q!” James shouted from inside the front door. “Don’t!”

Q panicked and took off running towards the thick woods at the edge of the moor. His coat snagging on the brambles and bushes as he crashed through them. Q’s heart was pounding in his chest. He had no idea where to go but he knew he had to get away from Sherlock and the idea that Jim Moriarty had been his captor.

His feet tripped over half buried rocks and he bounced off a tree as he ran scared. He could hear Bond shouting for him. The man’s anger bleeding into his voice.

“Q, YOU FUCKING LITTLE BASTARD, WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Then the sound of his brother’s voice call his name. He glanced behind himself to see the three men rushing out from the house in different directions after him. Q kept running but he couldn’t get far. The ground was uneven and he kept tripping over clumps of grass and boulders. There was an opening ahead of him; shorter grass and no trees. He hoped he could make better time in the clearing. He ran for the area hearing the shouts of the agent behind him.

Q was five feet into the clearing when suddenly he felt himself falling. The ground disappeared from under his feet. A black inky darkness enveloped him. His face was suddenly painfully cold. Like knives cutting into his flesh. He opened his mouth to scream but couldn’t take a breath. His mouth filled with the inky black water of the bog. His mind told him he was drowning.

Q kicked as hard as he ever had before and pushed his body up to the surface of the bog. Hitting the open air, the gasped in the ice cold air. It burned his lungs, setting them on fire. He reached out to find something to grab hold of but there was nothing but more black water. He couldn’t see the edge of the bog and couldn’t feel the bottom either. He blinked his eyes trying to see the tree line so he would know which way to swim, but it was too dark.

Q twisted in the water, he could feel the cold seeping in through the wet clothing and chilling his body. The weight of the wet cloth starting to pull him down under the water.

“BOND!” He finally screamed.

“Q!” He heard in answer to his call.

Q turned to Bond’s voice and started to swim towards it. “BOND, HELP ME!” Q shouted. He flung his arm forward to swim. His hand hit the grassy edge. Panting, Q grabbed the long weeds and pulled himself to the edge. But the weight of the wet clothes and his exhausted body prevented him from pulling himself out of the freezing water.

“Q!”

Both of Q’s arms rested on the edge of the bog, but his body was succumbing to the cold. He tried one more time.

“James, I’m dying.” But his voice was no more than a soft call. His mind slipping under as the cold took his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this scene seems familiar it was from Secrets and Lovers. The story I could never finish.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q's rescue?

“Q, YOU FUCKING LITTLE BASTARD, WHERE ARE YOU?!” Bond shouted as he rushed after the young man.

Bond heart was pounding. The moors were full of traps and snares for the unexperienced. There were brush falls and bogs. Craggy rocks one could trip over and knock themselves out. And the snow. The cold. Bond knew he had to find the young man and quickly. He could hear Sherlock and John rushing in other directions. They were unexperienced too, but he didn’t care. He needed to save Q.

Suddenly he heard a shout.

“BOND!” Q’s voice screamed out the night and the darkness. Bond called back.

“Q!”

He ran towards the sound. He could see a clearing in front of him and his stomach dropped. There were deep bogs in that clearing. If Q had fallen into one of them, he could easily drown before Bond could reach him.

“BOND, HELP ME!” The pleading voice cut through the darkness.

Bond reached the edge of the clearing and could hear something thrashing in the water. “Q!” He called out again. Where was he? Which direction now?

“James, I’m dying.” It was a soft reply not twenty feet in front of him.

Bond slowed himself to a walk and carefully made his way forward. He couldn’t save Q if he fell into the water too. He saw something move in the grass just a few feet in front of him, then heard the heavy sigh. Q. He found Q. The young man was half out of the bog, his upper body laying on the snow covered ground. His hands wrapped around the tall grass, as he tried to pull himself up. His waist, hips and legs were submerged in the freezing black water.

Bond pulled the unconscious man from the bog. Ice crystals were already forming on his clothes. The icy black mud covered Q’s face and hands. Q was frozen. He picked him up and started back to the manor as fast as he could.

“WATSON! HOLMES!” Bond shouted.

Bond ran towards the pale light that shone out of the door. The fire light glowed white in the darkness. Suddenly, the electric lights of the house turned on. Kincade had the generator up and running. Bond rushed through the broad front door with Sherlock and John right on his heels. His feet stomped heavily on the wooden floors. He carried Q into the drawing room and laid the frozen young man down before the lit fireplace. John grabbed one of the dust covers to cover the young man. He then quickly started to unbutton Q’s clothes.

Bond slapped Q’s face. “Q! Q wake up!” He slapped him again.

“No, I need to work,” Q mumbled back at the agent.

“The generator is up and working. The water is on.” Kincade said from the doorway.

Bond glance up at the old man, then over at John.

“Shower. Warm water is our best bet.” The doctor said as he yanked off Q’s sodden shoes.

Bond quickly picked the half dressed man up. The four men rushed up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Bond carried Q into the ensuite. To John and Sherlock’s surprise, it was remarkably modern bathroom. White fixtures. A large whirlpool bathtub and a separate shower made out of glass walls on three sides. John reached in and turned the water on tepid. It would take a while for the hot water heater to catch up, but it was also best to not use hot of water on Q’s frozen skin.

Bond pushed his way into the shower and held the young man in the spray. The cool water washed the black mud from Q’s face and body. As James held Q in his arms, John unbuttoned his clothes and carefully slipped the soaked fabric off.

“Set him down on his feet.” John said.

James kept his arms tightly wrapped around Q’s torso, as Q’s head rested on the blonde’s shoulder. John finished undressing the young man as the water was getting warmer. John slowly turned the temperature up.

“Keep him in here until his skin is a normal temperature. Increase the heat as needed. I’ll get him a brandy.” John said as he backed out of the shower sopping wet. Sherlock handed the doctor a towel and the two men left Bond with a naked Q under the water.

The black mud slid down his ice cold skin. Bond started to rub the flesh that was so white it had a blue cast to it. Bond tipped Q’s head back and looked into the younger man’s face. The slap he had given Q’s face was now red bruise on the pale white skin. A wave of guilt slipped through the older man and he gently smoothed his hand over the mark. Then without thinking, he lightly kissed it. His lips touching the warm skin.

“Q you need to wake up.”

Bond increased the temperature of the water to something actually hot. Q moaned and started to cough. His whole body shook. The younger man pushed closer and buried his face into the wet collar of James’ shirt. Bond dragged his fingers through Q’s wet hair, helping to rinse the black muck from it. The grime from the bog splashed and spotted the white tile floor of the shower, only to wash away by the warm water.

“James, please . . .” Q moaned in his delirious state. The sound spiking Bond’s blood.

“Q, I’m right here. You’re safe.”

“I’m cold.”

Bond’s hands started to rub gently over Q’s reddening skin. Q coughed again. His whole body was shaking with the effort. Bond’s hands swept over Q’s long back. Over the nubs of his vertebrae and the sleek long muscles under taut skin. Bond let his baser instincts indulge. He moved his hand lower and over the young man’s round arse. The firm flesh and tight muscles. He palmed the skin and gently squeeze. Q let a soft mew escape his mouth as Bond treated himself to the pleasure of Q’s body. Bond dragged his hand back up across the sharp hip bones, and up to Q’s shoulder blades just as the door opened. John returned wearing dry clothes and carrying a snifter of brandy.

“Here, get him to drink this and then dry him off completely. He’ll need to sleep now.” John said holding out the glass, as the steam from the shower cleared with the opened door.

“Dress him?” Bond asked.

“Well, he needs to be kept warm and he can’t regulate his own body temperature yet. It would be better for him to sleep naked but next to someone else for the warmth. I’d recommend Sherlock, but I think that would cause too many other problems when he woke up. I’ll do . . .”

“No, I’ll stay with him. He is my prisoner.” Bond said hoping he sounded official and not lecherous.

John nodded his head. He paused for a moment, watching the two men in the shower, one naked the other completely dressed.

“Dry clothes for tomorrow?” John asked wondering if there was any way to save Q’s muddy clothes.

“In the wardrobe. I don’t know if I have anything that will fit him, but we can make do until Kincade can go get some more.”

John’s doctor’s mind was telling him that he needed to stay with his patient but his soldier’s brain told him Q was safe with Bond. That the blonde agent would protect Q with his life. Just as John would protect Sherlock. He glanced once at the door then back to Bond.

“Do you need help getting him into bed?”

“No, just light the fire before you leave. Check the flue first.”

John nodded his head again and stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door to keep the heat inside. Q moaned softly in Bond’s arms.

“Let’s get you out of here.” James whispered into Q’s wet hair.

“No . . . warm ‘ere . . .” Q mumbled. He started to cough again but seemed to be able to stand on his own feet.

James maneuvered them out of the shower. He grabbed one of the towels for the heated towel rack and wrapped it around the boy’s body. He carefully sat Q down on the closed toilet lid and went to turn the water off. Removing his own ruined clothes, he slipped on a terrycloth robe. Knotting the belt around his waist. He returned back to Q with another towel and started to rub the younger man’s hair dry. It only took a few minutes, but Bond decide it was time for bed. Carefully lifting the young man up, he carried Q into the master bedroom and laid him down on the bed, under the duvet. He quickly removed the wet towels and covered the man up. Removing his own robe, Bond slipped under the covers and next to the brunette.

Q was shivering again, but his skin was not cold. Bond twisted and moved so he could pull Q closer to himself. Resting the younger man partially on his chest. Bond’s arms folded around protectively around Q’s body, as their legs seemed to tangle together. As soon as he had Q snug against him, the younger man stopped shaking and seemed to relax. He sighed and burrowed closer to the warm body of the blonde. Bond’s hands made a single sweep down the young man’s smooth body and he heard Q give a contented purr. A smile came to James’ face at the cat like mannerisms of the boy.

James stared up at the ceiling and the shadows that danced from the fire light. It had been four days since he had kidnapped the young man in Paris. Four days and one gun fight, one explosion, a near drowning, and now they were curled up together in bed. Eventful, but not very fulfilling. He wondered what the next day would bring. What new disaster would befall them? He listened to the soft breathing of the man in his arms, as he wondered if this would be the only time he would get to hold Q like this. Would he ever get to lay naked with the man again? At that very moment, Bond knew he wanted too. He just needed to know if Q would want it too.

~Q~

John came down the steps and back into the large drawing room where Sherlock was. John had found some clothes in one of the wardrobes in one of the bedrooms upstairs and had changed. They were large on the short man and John had to turn-up the cuffs. He was presently rolling up the sleeves of the shirt. He had a dark blue jumper in his hand that was incredible soft. John feared it had to be very expensive but hoped Bond wouldn’t mind him wearing it.

Sherlock was pacing in front of the fire. He turned when John walked in.

“Well? How is he?”

“Tristian? He should be okay by morning. We stopped the hypothermia but he more than likely drank some of water from the bog. It might make him sick. Nothing worse than an upset stomach and a headache. We’ll just have to see tomorrow.” John said as he collapsed into a large sofa.

Sherlock returned to pacing. His eyes darting left and right.

“He could have died tonight. He could have frozen out there, or drowned. And it would have been my fault.”

“Sherlock . . . I don’t think you should be blaming yourself. Your brother is the one who took off in the middle of snowstorm and fell in a bog. You didn’t push him.”

“I drove him from the house. I pushed him about Moriarty. I could have lost him again. Lost him before our parents had a chance to see him again.” Sherlock said.

“Oh, God! Your parents.” John slapped his hand to his face. Covering his eyes as he moaned.

“John, what is it?” Sherlock asked turning to see his friend’s distress at the mention of Sherlock’s parents.

“I forgot to tell you. The night we . . . well, just before I found you in the bathroom with . . . you know, the syringe.”

“The night we had sex.” Sherlock said bluntly.

John rolled his eyes and sat up straight. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Guilt for not telling Sherlock sooner was beginning to build.

“Mary called.”

“You told me. After we . . .”

“No, before we . . . before we kissed. I was sitting in the bedroom and you went into the bathroom. Mary called. Mycroft had been looking for you. Your father had an accident.”

John watched as Sherlock’s expression became frantic.

“He had fallen and hit his head. He was in hospital and Mycroft was looking for you.” John continued. “They said it wasn’t bad, maybe a mild concussion.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!?” Sherlock shouted. His eyes quickly searched around the room. He didn’t see a phone.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I was coming in to tell you when I found you with the syringe. Then, well, then we kissed and we . . .”

“Yes, yes. We had sex. But how could you forget to tell me my father was in hospital?!” Sherlock accused as he turned to rush towards the front door. The man grabbed his coat and threw the front door open. John rushed behind him, grabbing his black wool jacket.

“Sherlock? Where are you going?” John rushed out behind Sherlock into the snow storm.

“I must get to my father.” Sherlock went over and opened the door of the Aston Martin.

“Sherlock, this is Bond’s car. The keys?”

Sherlock was already in the driver’s seat. “Get in John. Don’t you think I can hot wire a car like this?”

“Sherlock?”

“Get in.” Sherlock shouted as the car roared to life and Sherlock closed the driver side door.

John rushed over to the passenger side and quickly got into the car. He barely was seated when Sherlock shifted it into gear and took off down the gravel road back to the stone gates. The car passed the stone pestles and the single bronze statue of a deer as it pulled onto the slick paved road, turning south and back to London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James will find it awkward in the morning. The chapters are coming quicker and I hope to be able to update more quickly now. Thank you for your patience.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Q wake up together. If not your thing, skip the after the break.

Mycroft wondered how much trouble would he actually get into if he just simply surgically embedded a tracking device into Sherlock. He would have to do without Sherlock’s knowledge. His idiot brother would more than likely remove it with a knife or can opener if he knew it was implanted in the detective. But honestly, it would solve so many problems if he could just simple follow him with one of the MI6 subdermal trackers.

Earlier that day he had been notified that Sherlock’s and John’s passports had gone through immigrations in Newcastle. Unfortunately, he was only able to follow the car they were traveling in for a few miles. It was last seen heading north but had disappeared once it had crossed over the border with Scotland. Mycroft couldn’t figure out why Bond would be taking Tristian and Sherlock to Scotland. After his meeting with M, he had been forced out of the MI6 computer system and was unable to retrieve any information regarding his brothers or that arrogant spy they had sent to bring Tristian back.

Mycroft knew his brothers were in Great Britain but he had no idea where. All the more reason for putting a permanent tracker on both of them.

“Mister Holmes?” The disembodied voice of Anthea came over the intercom system.

“Yes?” He depressed the button to speak.

“The car that transported your brother, Sherlock, back into the country from Amsterdam has been seen on CCTV on the M40.”

“Are you positive?” Mycroft asked.

“Sir, there are two occupants. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson.”

Mycroft leaned back for moment to think. Sherlock and John were heading south without Tristian. Why? Of course. Sherlock was coming to tell their parents about Tristian. He had to stop the man. Their parents couldn’t know about Tristian return form the grave from Sherlock. He would surely botch things up.

“Have my car ready immediately. I wish to taken to St. Bart’s Hospital.”

“Yes, sir.”

~Q~

Bond woke to sound of a soft beeping from his mobile. Annoyed at being woken from the best sleep he had had in several days, Bond reached for the device and unlocked it to turn off the alarm. Then he noticed the heavy weight laying across his back and then warmth surrounding him. When he realized the arm that was pillowing his head was not his own, James twisted and looked over his shoulder at the wild dark curls resting there. James smiled recognizing that Q had sought him out in the night and curled himself around the blonde. Presently, Q’s head was resting on James’ back and the young man’s arms were wrapped around the blonde’s body. So instead of being frightened by sleeping with the agent, the hacker seemed to be enjoying the company.

“Good morning, sunshine.” James said softly, lifting his shoulder and gently dislodging Q.

The young man groaned and twisted back over and on top of Bond again. Nuzzling softly at the tan skin there. Then while still half asleep, Q turned his head and placed a messy kiss to the ridge of James’ shoulder blade. James paused as he felt the sleepy kiss. Awkward yet enduring.

“Q, it’s time to wake up.” Bond said again. The older man wondered if it was always this hard to wake Q up or was the young man also enjoying a restful sleep.

Q groaned again and rolled over onto his back. James moved with him and rotated over on to his side. His head cradled in his hand as he bent his elbow up. Q’s right arm still trapped under James’ body. The covers shifted down and pooled around blonde’s waist, leaving both men exposed. James brought his right leg up and rested it over Q’s thigh, catching the young man in place.

Q’s eyes fluttered slowly, struggling to open. He yawned and stretched his arm over his head. His eyes slowly open and after a moment settled on James’ face. A soft smile came to Q’s lips and he sighed, closing his eyes again. Then Q stiffened and went to shift away from the blonde but Bond had him trapped. A welcomed warmth filled the older man as he watched the young man wake up and begin to realize where and with whom he was with.

“You want to explain why you took off like that or do you just want to go swimming again?” Bond asked jokingly.

Q blinked his eyes open and stared up at the man laying above him.

“You’re naked? We’re both naked?”

“Yes, doctor’s orders. Do you remember last night?”

Q blinked and his eyes lost their focus for a moment. “Sherlock and I were arguing. I got mad at the git. I . . . I left.”

“You ran out into a snowstorm.” James interrupted him. “Not very intelligent of you.”

“There was a hole, a pond?”

“A bog. They’re deep mires around here. You fell into one, almost drown. By the time I reached you, you were already going into shock. We got you back to the house and John and I got you into the shower. He undressed you, I just kept you on your feet.” James explained.

“And the reason we are naked in bed together now?” Q asked with a raised eyebrow.

“John said you needed to keep warm but couldn’t control your own body temperature. He had offered to crawl in naked with you, but I decided it would be better if I threw myself on that grenade.” A smirk came to James’ lips.

“Oh, how gallant of you.” Q said sarcastically while looking back up at the man. Q’s eyes flicked at James shoulders and chest. “Do you always throw yourself into your work so unselfishly?”

“I believe in never holding back.”

“You should be commended. Now are you going to let me up?” Q asked but not really wanting to leave the warmth of the bed or the company.

Bond glanced up and down Q’s naked torso.

“No, I’m comfortable right here for a while.” He smiled. Q sighed dramatically that only caused Bond to laugh sarcastically.

Q’s eyes moved slowly over the blonde’s body. Raising his left hand, Q telegraphed his intentions before letting his fingers brush down Bond’s neck. He waited to see if there was any confusion or repulsion in the contact. Watching Bond’s eyes, he saw warmth start to pour out of the crystal blue orbs.

“You said this was your house. Does MI6 always give their agents such grand homes to live in, in the middle of nowhere?” Q asked as his fingers trailed down Bond’s throat and across tan skin. His index finger paused of moment over a faded scar. A long thin line slightly paler than the skin around it. It looked like a knife wound.

“It was my family home. I was born here.” James said as he leaned a little bit closer.

“I thought you said you were an orphan?”

“My parents died when I was eleven. For a short time I lived in Switzerland with a close family friend, then a maiden aunt before I was packed off to Eton.” Bond glanced down as he placed his hand on Q’s waist. His thumb began rubbing circles into the pale skin. “I return after the Navy and started to refurbish the old lady.”

“That explains why the bathroom is so nice.” Q said as he let his fingers move slowly down James’ arm. His eyes still following the progression of his hand.

“You remember the shower last night?” James raised an eyebrow.

“Some of it.” The blush to Q’s cheeks was not missed by the agent. Maybe Q remembered James’ hands moving seductively over the young man’s body. Q continued, “Is there a gym here? Do you work out?” His fingers traveling along the definition of James’ pectoral muscles.

“No, not per say. I do swim when I’m in London, and run often. Occasionally spar with my friend when we are both in town.” He sighed at the feeling of Q’s fingers dragging across his skin.

“You have a beautiful body, Mister Bond.” Q whispered, shifting slightly under James.

“You called me by my first name last night. Use it again.”

Q’s hazel green eyes flashed up at James’. For a moment the older man thought that Q would bolt from the bed, but instead there was a shift behind Q’s expression. A softening and relaxation.

“James.” Q drew the name out on an exhalation. The sound made James’ body tingle.

The blonde smiled wickedly as Q’s fingers continued to drag across the man’s skin, leaving a trail of electricity behind. Q brought his fingernail down over James’ nipple. Scratching lightly at the sensitive tissue. James hissed in pleasure and closed his eyes. He didn’t miss the sensation of Q’s cock twitching at the sound the blonde made. When James opened his eyes, he saw Q’s eyes had darken in want. The young man’s fingers quickly returning to the older man’s nipple to squeeze it between finger and thumb.

Bond growled as he leaned down and kissed Q’s lips. He paused mere millimeters away from the wanting lips. James teased with light and quick brushes of lips and skin. The young man’s tongue came out and licked at James’ lower lip. Before James allowed the young entrance, he shifted and started to worry the skin below Q’s ear. Q sighed out of frustration and arched up into James’ chest.

“James . . .”

Bond pulled on Q’s earlobe, pinched between his teeth. Remembering Q’s history with Muller, Bond started to whisper. “Say no. . .” He moved down and kissed Q’s throat. “. . . and . . .” James moved forward and breathed over Q’s pulse point. “. . . I’ll . . .” He dragged his lips across Q’s collar bone and over to his left shoulder. “. . . stop . . .”

“Don’t stop.” Q plead.

James smiled as he pressed his thigh more firmly between Q’s two thin legs. Spreading them open. The young man moaned as he bucked up to rub his heavy cock against the other man’s leg. James returned to kissing along Q’s neck as his hands migrated up the young man’s body Q’s skin tasted almost sweet, like tea with honey. A rich addictive flavor that Bond was beginning to savor.

Q’s hands moved to James’ back. Fingernails dragged down the man’s back as James bit lightly at Q’s Adam’s apple.

“James, I want . . .”

James laughed seductively. He wrapped his arms around the young man’s body and twisted them. He rolled the two of them, shifting Q to lie on top of the blonde’s chest. The younger man’s knees straddled James’ hips. Their cocks lined up together and Q quickly started to rut against James. The younger man’s urgency became apparent. Q would not be able to wait. He reached between the two of them and James felt Q’s hand wrap around both of their cocks. His mind’s eye pictured the long elegant fingers closing around them. The fingers of an artist. James groaned and arched up into the contact.

Q worked his hand. The two men found a rhythm. The heady rush of sweat slick skin sliding together. James hands moved up and into Q’s dark curls again. He pulled the young man down and kissed the full lips. James’ tongue slipped into Q’s mouth with a gasp. He fought for control over the boy. Suddenly, James felt Q jerk. The lithe body shivered, then Q bucked and arched his back. James felt the warmth pooling over his stomach. The pulses from his cock, stimulating James’. He followed shortly behind Q. Pulling the young man down into a hug. His teeth closed over the man’s neck.

They panted in unison. Sharing each other’s breath. James’ fingers smoothed through Q’s hair, and softly scratched at his scalp where he had pulled hair. Q’s body was limp and rested comfortably over James’.

“I don’t . . . I’m not . . .” Q tried to start to say something.

Bond wrapped his arms tighter around the young man.

“I don’t judge and I’m not going to apologize. I enjoyed that very much.”

Q pushed himself up to look into the other man’s eyes. “I did too. I haven’t wanted to do something like that in quite a while, but . . .”

“But you finally felt safe enough to do it? How do you feel now?” James’ fingers dragged one more time through the younger man’s hair. He was quickly becoming addicted to the boy’s curls.

“Good except for the fact I feel like I drank a gallon of muddy water and fell in great big hole.” Q said with a small smirk playing through his expression. “Did I hit my head too?”

James laughed softly. “No, I think that is the residual from the shock last night. You were trying to go into hypothermia.”

“So that’s why you were fondling me in the shower last night?” Q asked innocently.

“Just trying to get the circulation going. Nothing more.” James smiled.

Q looked sideways at him, then rolled to the side and grabbed one of the towels they had dropped there the night before. Quickly he wiped both of them clean. He tossed the towel again on the floor and pulled the covers up over his body.

“So what is the next plan? Wait here until you return me to prison or do I finally punch my brother in the mouth?” Q laid down on the pillow next to Bond’s head.

“Do you want to return to prison?” James asked feeling the mood had definitely shifted.

“Do you think I would sincerely believe that is an honest question? Of course I don’t want to go to jail, but I don’t believe I get much of a choice in the matter. As for punching Sherlock, well, I would much prefer knocking the condescending grin of Mycroft’s face but he is not here. Sherlock will have to stand in for the bastard.”

“If arrangements could be made, what would you be willing to do to keep yourself out of jail?” James asked as his mind became to form a plan.

Q rolled up on to elbow and glanced down at the prone man. “Again, that can’t be a sincere question. I know what I have already done when I was with Jim Moriarty. I can’t believe there would be anything you could ask that would be any more horrendous.”

James pulled Q down on top of himself and kissed the swollen lips. He wanted to keep this man safe and he wanted to keep him in his bed. Well at least for the time being. Maybe, if he could persuade M, he could have both


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Mycroft finally have a conversation about their brother.

The sun was shining in through the window panes and warming the ancient stone floor of Skyfall’s kitchen. The AGA cooker was heating and the smell of coffee permeated the room. Q and James came into the large kitchen just as Kincade came in through the back door. His shotgun resting over his bent elbow and a coal scuttle full of peat in his other hand.

“I thought you had left.” Kincade said as he saw the two men.

Both men were dressed in sweat pants and oversize jerseys. Q had the draw strings tied as tight as he could, but the soft grey fabric still road low over his hips.

“Why?” James asked as he retrieved two mugs from the cupboard.

“Tea, please.” Q said as he watched James reach for the coffee pot.

“Make it yourself.” The blonde said mischievously to the younger man.

“Your car is gone.” Kincade answered James’ first question.

“Gone?!” James set the mug down hard on the wooden table and rushed through the house to the front door.

Where he had left his prize Aston Martin, was the pristine white snow. James cursed and came stomping back through the house and into the kitchen. Q was filling a copper kettle with water when James retrieved his coffee.

“Don’t worry about having to punch your brother, Sherlock. That will be my pleasure.”

~Q~

Mycroft reached the hospital thirty minutes after he was informed Sherlock had been seen in the city. He needed to get to his parents before Sherlock arrived and told them Tristian was still alive. He didn’t need his brother disturbing their parents with his senseless accusations. His driver pulled up in front of St Bartholomew Hospital ignoring the signs for patient drop-off. Mycroft quickly got out of the backseat, not waiting for the driver to open the door for him. He walked quickly though the old hospital, his heels tapping on the tile floors.

He walked passed the nurse’s station and down the hallway to his father’s room. The guard who was stationed there, was not standing at the door. Mycroft sighed heavily. He would have to reassign another agent to Artic Listening station. He pushed the door open expecting to see his brother ranting at his parents. What he saw surprised him.

Sherlock was standing beside the bed, looking down at his sleeping father. His left arm was wrapped protectively around his mother. The old woman was leaning into her second oldest son.

“It was a minor stroke. That’s what caused him to fall.” Violet Holmes said quietly.

“The doctors told me that he will be discharged tomorrow. Are you certain you will be able to care for him?” Sherlock was talking softly.

Mycroft was surprised by the warm and concern in Sherlock’s voice. He had never heard such a thing before.

“Oh, Sherlock, don’t worry about us. Mycroft has taken care of everything. There will be a nurse there to help me while your father gets back on to his feet.”

“I will be there too, Mummy. You shouldn’t be alone during this.”

“I won’t be. We are a family, Sherlock.” She smiled up at son. “We will be together. Your father and brother and the two of us. All of us.”

“Not all of us.” Sherlock said. Mycroft took another step into the room expecting Sherlock to say something else, but it was his mother who spoke next.

“I know you miss Tristian too. You two were very close. But I believe he is here with us now. I don’t believe he was every truly separated from us.”

Mycroft found himself coking on something that was foreign to him. Emotion. He felt confused. He stepped closer.

“Mummy?” He spoke up before Sherlock could say anything else to his mother.

Sherlock and Violet turned to see Mycroft approach. Violet smiled and rushed forward to her son. Sherlock held back and kept his face completely stoic.

“Thank you, Mycroft. You brought me Sherlock. You are such a good son.” Violet said as she hugged her eldest son.

Mycroft’s eyes locked onto Sherlock’s. He could feel the anger and loathing Sherlock felt for him. Mycroft bent down and gave his mother a dutiful kiss to her cheek.

“Mummy, I need to speak to Sherlock out in the hallway. Will you please excuse us?” Mycroft said his eyes still locked on Sherlock’s.

“You boys and your secrets. I would have thought by this age you would be over it.” She laughed softly.

“Somethings I don’t believe we will ever outgrow, Mummy.” Sherlock said. “Like disappointment.”

Apprehension flashed across Mycroft’s expression. Violet seemed confused by the comment.

“Please Sherlock, may we speak in private. Excuse us, Mummy.”

Mycroft turned and walked out of the room, hoping his brother would follow him and not say anything more in front of their mother. Once in the hallway, Mycroft waited for Sherlock. The younger brother making sure the door to the hospital room was closed before he confronted his brother.

“You knew!” Sherlock hissed at his brother.

“I knew he didn’t die in the car accident but I didn’t know he was alive. I haven’t known anything about him for ten years.”

“How can that be? You stick your bloody nuisance of a nose into everything. You had to know Tristian was alive.” Accused Sherlock.

“I moved him to Canada. I was planning on him staying there until I could find a way to return him to England. If I couldn’t have done that then I was going to relocate our parents to Canada to be with him. Tristian fled before I could get to him. I had no idea where he went when he left Victoria.” Mycroft tried to explain.

“He ended up with Moriarty!” Sherlock was no longer lowering his voice. He didn’t care who over heard them. “He was tortured and manipulated into helping that mad man. He was pulled into the criminal network and bedded by the Moriarty. And you are to blame for our brother’s suffering. You, you pompous meddling bureaucrat!”

Mycroft felt humiliated. He had tried to help his brother. He had tried to save Tristian.

“I did what I thought was best! I did everything I could to save him! To keep him safe!”

“You turned him in!” Sherlock was now shouting.

The man who was supposed to be guarding Mister Holmes’ hospital room returned to see the two men arguing at the end of the hall. A nurse for the station heard the shouting and both started to come down the hall way to intervene.

“It was better I do it than anyone else! At least that way no one would question my loyalty!”

“Yes, your loyalty, always your primary concern!” Sherlock leaned forward and sneered at his brother.

“Look here, Sherlock . . .” Mycroft raised his left hand, pointing a finger into Sherlock’s face.

Before anyone could stop him, Sherlock grabbed Mycroft’s exposed wrist and twisted it. He wrapped his brother’s arm up behind the older man’s back. Twisting hard, causing his brother to gasp in pain. Sherlock shoved his brother forward and into the wall. Mycroft grunted and groaned as his wrist was twisted harder.

The nurse and the guard rushed forward to rescue the government man but before they could reach him the door opened on the hospital room. Violet Holmes stepped into the hallway to see her two sons fighting.

“Sherlock! Mycroft! Stop that!”

Sherlock and Mycroft didn’t move. They remained still as Violet glared at them. Suddenly, Sherlock gave Mycroft’s wrist one more hard tug, spraining it. Mycroft cried out in pain as Sherlock dropped his hold and stepped back. The dark haired brother turned and looked at his mother.

“Mummy, I will be back tomorrow. If you need anything, please call me.” He bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek then walked slowly way. He glared at the guard who just stared back at him.

Mycroft was slowly moving his arm around to a natural position. The wrist was red and beginning to swell. The nurse took one look at it then carefully immobilized it.

“Mister Holmes, we should x-ray this.” She said.

Mycroft hissed as the woman tried to pull him along by his injured arm.

“Let go of me you idiot!” he snapped. The nurse jumped back for the enraged man.

“SIR?! I was just trying to help!”

“If I need your help, then I will ask for it!” Mycroft cradled his injured wrist against his body.

Mycroft stepped up to him mother and looked down into her concerned face.

“Mycroft, maybe you should let the nice nurse help you.”

“I will see my own private physician, thank you very much. What did Sherlock say to you?”

“What do you mean?” His mother asked him confused by his tone.

“What did he say to you about Tristian?!” Mycroft barked at his mother.

“Mycroft! Nothing, nothing at all! Why would he?”

Mycroft paused for moment, studying his mother’s face. She couldn’t lie to him. She didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. Without answering her question, Mycroft marched away from the two women and down the hall. He reached the lift and jabbed at the button with is finger. Reaching for his mobile, he quickly called his driver to meet him at the front door. He had let Sherlock get to him. Now he needed to control the fall out.

~Q~

It was several hours after Mycroft’s confrontation with Sherlock at the hospital when Mycroft arrived at the Diogenes Club. He walked in with his left arm in a black silk sling. A stiff brace was wrapped around his sprained wrist. He walked swiftly yet quietly to his private study within the confines of the exclusive club. His refuge from the rest of world. He just simply wanted to sit before the fireplace in his study and drink a snifter of brandy. Maybe later he would enjoy a perfectly prepared Steak Diane with new potatoes and roasted Brussel sprouts. He entered the stately room expecting to be alone, but he was not.

Sitting in one of the two leather chairs near the fireplace was Mary Watson. Her hand resting protectively over her large pregnant belly. Mycroft sighed as he glanced at her. He was not in the mood to deal with a pregnant woman at that exact moment. To be honest, he couldn’t think of anytime he would be in the mood to deal with any pregnant woman. Once he had gotten rid of the woman he would discover which of the footmen for the club had allowed her into his rooms, he thought. He would make sure the man was sacked that evening without any references.

“Missus Watson, I have had a very trying day and am not in a very sociable temper. Please explain your presence in my private rooms quickly so you may leave just as quickly.”

Mary sighed and stood up very slowly. She had been in the room for at least an hour and had identified the two cameras present in the room. Her eyes moved from Mycroft then up to the camera in the corner. He followed her gaze.

“To answer your question, yes they are on but no they are not recording sound. I can turn them off if I so choose. I normally prefer to not have them running when I’m in here alone.”

“It is very interesting that the man who enjoys watching everyone else on cameras should be reticent to have himself recorded.” Mary said as she moved closer to Mycroft. “Tell me, is anyone watching the feed?”

“It is a close circuit and yes. Someone I trust very closely.”

Mycroft felt the hairs start to tingle on the back of his neck. He forgot about the pain in his wrist as his eyes slowly swept over Mary Watson’s frame. Something was off. She normally appeared small and docile but not now. Now, she was moving with cat like assurance. Smooth and economic.

Mary glanced once more at the camera then smiled and pulled her coat further open. Reaching into an inside pocket, she pulled out a 9mm Beretta handgun with a five inch silencer screwed into the barrel. She calmly pointed it at his head.

“Missus Watson?” Mycroft remained still.

“Mister Holmes, I have a simple question to ask you. How willing are you to die?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like the turn of events. Trying to keep both sets of fans happy.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary attempts to kill Mycroft.

The flat was silent and dark when John Watson stepped into it. He expected to see Mary there, but she was missing. He called out in hopes she was somewhere in the small flat but no one called back. John collapsed on the couch and buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t sure why he was here. He didn’t know what he wanted to say to his wife other than he loved her, but he was in love Sherlock. That of course he could never say to Mary.

He sat up and leaned back against the cushions with a heavy sigh. Immediately, his eyes fell on the photograph from their wedding day. The two of them smiling at the camera. The perfect couple. It was supposed to be happiest day of his life, he wanted to tell himself. John knew he was happy that day. He knew he wanted to marry Mary. She was beautiful and he loved her. Then when he found out she was pregnant, it was like a dream come true. Everything he believed he wanted was right there before him. A wife, a family, a career, a life without pain.

Eight months later, it was all slipping through his hands.

John had to find Mary. She must have gone out shopping, John thought. He went into their bedroom to change his clothes. He had been wearing the same ones since they had found Bond and Tristian at the hotel just outside of Paris. That had been four days ago. Pulling his jumper over his head, he walked into his bedroom. Maybe if he took a shower, he would be able to think clear, he thought. He walked into the bathroom and turned the water on. Turning around he went back out into the bedroom, and froze. Why had he not seen it before? Sitting on the bed was Mary’s suitcase.

It was open but fully packed. John stepped closer and looked down at the contents. She had packed her clothes and toiletries. In amongst the folded clothes, John found their wedding album. The only reason she would be taking that was if she was going to leave. Mary was leaving John.

He quickly shut the water off and rushed out of the flat, pulling his jumper back on. He couldn’t lose Mary. He couldn’t let her go without letting him meet his child. John didn’t know where she would be but he knew who could find her. Who he needed to locate his wife that very moment.

He waved down a taxi and gave the address to the driver. In a few minutes he would be across town and asking for help form the one person he never thought to ask help from.

~Q~

John was familiar with the idiosyncrasies of the Diogenes Club, so he already had several notes written before he rang the silent bell for the front door of the building. The door was opened by a footman in full livery. John handed him the note stating it was imperative that he see Mycroft Holmes immediately.

The man nodded and waved John into the foyer of the club. John followed close on the heels of the man as he led him through various drawing rooms and into the upper floors of the club where special members retained their own rooms. The footman paused before a door and then pressed a button that alerted the occupants inside. He stepped back and waved John to open the door. John nodded to the man and quickly entered Mycroft’s private study.

As soon as the door closed, John saw Mary. Her right arm was extended and the Beretta was pointing at Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft stood glaring at John incredulously.

“NO MARY!” John shouted and without hesitation he pulled the Sig Sauer from the small of his back. His arm snapping up and the barrel of the gun aimed at his pregnant wife.

“John?!” Mary gasped looking at her husband.

“Mary, no don’t do this! Please put the gun down!” John begged his wife.

“Please John, you don’t understand.”

“I don’t, Mary. Please, I can’t let you shoot him. I don’t know why you are doing this but I can’t let you kill Sherlock’s brother.”

“You think I would kill Mister Holmes?” Mary asked. Her expression was crushed as she fixed her eyes on John.

“Doctor Watson, you are assistance is not required.” Mycroft snapped.

“Mycroft, you don’t know what she can do. You don’t know how dangerous she is.” John didn’t take his eyes off his wife. “She’s dangerous. She’s a trained killer.”

“John, you said we would be together. How could you not trust me? How could you point a gun at me?” Mary’s voice broke.

“You are pointing a gun at Sherlock’s brother.” John said as fear began to race wildly through him.

Mary lowered the gun then turned slowly to glance over her shoulder and up at the camera in the corner of the room. John’s eyes followed hers and set on the camera, just as the door was kicked in and two footmen rushed silently in holding L85A2 assault rifles. They immediately pointed them at John.

Confused John slowly raised his hands in the air. One of the footmen stepped forward and relieved John of his handgun. While the other motioned for John to kneel.

“Damn it, John. You have ruined everything!” Mycroft barked at the man.

~Q~

Moran glared at the CCTV feed on the laptop. He was sitting in a café just off Leicester Square. It was an unrestricted Wi-Fi connection but he wasn’t worried. He wasn’t going to remain there long enough for law enforcement to find and arrest him. It was supposed to be a simple execution. Abigail was to go into the bastard’s office and shoot him. She was providing visual proof of the completion of the contract. Just as she was about to pull the trigger, that idiot of a husband showed up and ruined everything.

Moran hissed and slammed the laptop closed. He realized Abigail had betrayed him and if he didn’t move quickly, the police would have his location from the connection to the video feed. He stood up and walked away from the table, leaving the laptop still there. He disappeared quickly into the crowds that frequented the tourist square to see the Christmas lights. He crossed over to Charring Cross and caught a taxi. In a matter of moments he was a mile away from the café and the laptop, just as member of a MI5 assault team were closing in.

He would make sure Abigail and her husband paid for this betrayal. Just another name on the long list of people he planned on killing after he got Robert Frobisher back. And when he got the boy back, he wasn’t going to wait any longer for the man to finally be seduced. He would take Robert to his bed that night and make the young man his new lover.

~Q~

John was sitting in the chair across from Mycroft’s desk. Mary was standing in the corner and refusing to look at her husband. Mycroft was sitting at his desk and fuming at John.

“I hope you realize your heroic gallantry to save my life cost us the opportunity to capture an international criminal, Doctor Watson.”

“I didn’t know it was a set up. I came here to ask for help.” John spoke to Mycroft but his eyes were fixed on Mary.

“My help? After you ruined any chance we had at arresting Colonel Sebastian Moran. Pray tell, what could I possible want to assist you with now?” The sarcasm dripped off Mycroft’s words. “What stupidity has my younger brother caused now? Whose life has he ruined? What doss house is he held up in?”

John’s eyes flicked over at Mycroft. He could easily see how angry Mycroft was. He wondered for a moment if the injured wrist had anything to do with Sherlock.

“I wanted you to help me find Mary. I thought she was planning on leaving me and I wanted to find her.” John said calmly and quietly.

Mary finally glanced over at her husband. Her eyes were red from tears and her lips were quivering.

“The suitcase? I wanted us to leave together. Mycroft was going to help us disappear. Hide from Moran and start a new life, but you ruined it.”

“I ruined it?” John asked.

“Yes,” snapped Mycroft. “We had arranged for your wife to shoot me, with blanks of course, in front of a camera providing a live feed to Moran to prove my death. As he was watching the feed, agents from MI5 were to close in on him and arrest him. But with your disruption of our little play, Moran discovered it was trap. He escaped and now you and your wife will be on his hit list.”

John looked up at his wife. He didn’t have to ask if it was true. He could see it in her expression.

“I’m sorry.”

“You honestly thought I would shoot Mycroft. After everything we went through . . . after everything we said to one another, you thought I would go back to that . . . to that life.” Mary wiped the tears from her cheek.

“Mary I didn’t . . .” John started to say but Mary turned away from him. “What was I to think, Mary? You shot Sherlock, of course you would shoot Mycroft.”

Mycroft Holmes sat back in his chair. “She is the one who shot Sherlock?”

John looked over at the man. He didn’t know Mycroft was unaware of who the shooter was.

“JOHN!” Mary pleaded. She glanced over at Mycroft. The man looked murderously at the pregnant woman.

“It was you? Sherlock told me he didn’t know who the shooter was and all this time it was you.” Mycroft said. “I should have you arrested.”

“Mycroft, no! She didn’t have a choice!” John begged.

“Sherlock lied to me, of course.” Mycroft turned back to John. “Why would you be stupid enough to believe I won’t seek revenge now?” He looked John over carefully. The blonde doctor felt the weight of the stare and turned away as his skin flushed. “Of course. You finally gave into him, didn’t you? You believe your relationship with Sherlock will protect you and your wife. Well, Sherlock’s bedpartners have tried to blackmail me in the past and it didn’t work. It won’t work now.”

“Bed partners?” Mary said confused. Then she glanced at John’s red face. “You said you weren’t gay. You said it was just jealousy. There was no truth to what people were saying.”

“Mary, there wasn’t . . .” John blurted out.

“No, not until recently. This trip. The two of you finally consummated your undying love.” Mycroft sneered. “Tell me, did the angles sing? Were there great declarations of love?”

Mary wipe the tears from her eyes as she glared at her husband. John couldn’t deny his infidelity. He didn’t even try.

“Mister Holmes, we tried and failed. It was not my fault. I still in need to disappear. Will you please assist me in going into hiding?” Mary ask of Mycroft.

“Do you wish for your husband to join you?” Mycroft asked somberly.

“I do not feel the need for him to accompany myself and my child any longer.”

“MARY!” John stood up shouting.

Mary took a step back but did not look up at John’s face.

“I see,” Mycroft said. “I will keep my word and help you. Please wait in the other room while I conclude my business with your husband.”

Mary turned to walk away, but John reached out to grab her. Her bright blue eyes flashed at him and he didn’t touch her. He felt his heart tear itself in two at the cold anger in her face.

“Mary . . .” he whispered.

“Good bye, John.” Mary’s voice broke again as she walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. John is a good man who is just in love with two different people. It wasn't going to end well.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little less traumatic after the last chapter.

Bond dialed his mobile and the phone call was picked up on the second ring. Moneypenny’s playful voice answered with flirting tone.

“James, you couldn’t go a whole week without blowing something up, could you?”

“It wasn’t me this time, Moneypenny. Is she in?”

“She’s with Tanner. Can you wait?”

James glanced up to see Q sitting on the couch. They were in the drawing room of Skyfall. The fire place was cold from the night before, but the forced air heating was working. The sunlight was bouncing off the snow outside and coming in the now un-shuttered windows. Dust played the sunbeams as the light fell warmly across Q’s face. He seemed enthralled in a book and James recognized it as coming from the bookshelves in the room. A history of Scotland.

He turned away from the young man and bought his attention back to the conversation. “I’ll hold for a little bit, but don’t forget about me.”

“As if you would let me, James.”

He heard the click of the line going to hold and was greeted by soft music played by a string quartet. Less than a minute later, M’s sharp voice came over the line.

“Bond, where are you?”

“Scotland.”

There was a silence on the line for a moment.

“Very good.” The woman said. “Not a known safe house and no one would think to look for you there.”

Bond let a small smile come to his face as he listened to M’s mild compliment. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And the package? Unhurt?”

“Yes ma’am.” He glanced over and saw Q had moved from the couch. The book was still sitting there on the cushions but the young man had slipped through the room. James saw him standing at the entrance to the gun room. He moved to follow. “His brother and the good doctor have left us. I believe they are on their way to London. With my car.” James emphasized the last three words.

He could hear an amused hum coming from M. “How negligent of you to leave the keys in it.”

James huffed out a breath of air and ignored the jab. M continued.

“What happened in France? There were four bodies found.”

“One of them should be Red Grant. Right hand man of Sebastian Moran. He and three others arrived as a hit squad.”

“Not a rescue?” She asked concerned.

“No. Grant personally tried to kill the package. He may know something that Moran doesn’t want us to know.”

“Has he said anything?” M questioned.

“Not as of yet. He may have been under psychological stress over the last ten years. He did admit to being involved with a criminal network, but only in the background. Not as a major player.”

“Imagine Mycroft Holmes’ explanation for his brother’s criminal activities.” Bond could hear the mirth in M’s voice. “I can hardly wait to hear the tale he will spin.” She paused for a moment.

“I’m beginning to believe he was forced to help Moriarty. He may be completely innocent.” Bond wanted to plant a seed of skepticism in M.

“I sincerely doubt that. Keep him there until I recall you. No one without access to your personal files will know about it. I will contain Sherlock when he returns and prevent him from blabbing to Mycroft.”

“I have the feeling that the two brothers will have an unpleasant reunion. Good bye.”

“Good bye and good job, Bond.”

The line went quiet. James followed Q to the last place he had seen him.

The gun room was a small square room that Andrew Bond had especially built for himself. The large divided pane windows on the west side of the house let in afternoon and evening light into the trifling space. Along three walls were glass fronted display cases with both long guns and handguns. The wood was from trees actually felled on the property. In the center of the room was a rectangular table covered with a padded leather top. There were worn marks and stains in the leather from years of cleaning and repairing guns on top of it.

Q was standing, looking into the glass cover gun display. The variety of handguns were displayed on wooden pegs. Four to a row, six rows in height. James stepped up behind the young man and leaned into him. His arms moved slowly around the young man’s waist.

“Anything peek your interest?” James whispered into Q’s hair.

“That little one. The silver one.” Q nodded to the small automatic. It was pearl handled, and nickel plated with the name Monique etched in the barrel.

“A Baby Browning. My mother’s. My father gave it to her on their honeymoon.”

“I’ve never seen such a small gun before. Does it actually work?” Q asked, intrigued by the miniature gun.

“Yes, but the accuracy in poor. I wouldn’t try and shoot anyone over ten feet away with it. It was designed for a woman’s evening bag.” James reached around the young man and opened the case. He pulled the small gun off its peg. Pressing the button to release the loaded magazine and pulled the slide back to show that it was empty. He handed it over to the young man. It was light, around 10 ounces and the only about four inches long. It fit easily in the palm of his hand.

“Have you ever fired it?” Q asked.

“Once or twice. I’ve fired every gun in this room at least once. Even the old elephant gun. It must be over a hundred years old now. The ammo for it is under the case, in the drawers. The Browning takes .25 ACP cartridge.” Bond explained.

Q slipped his fingers around the grip. It felt inconsequential in his hand. The gun seemed to be a dichotomy to the young man. Cute but functional. Delicate but lethal.

“This one would be better for you.” Bond reached up and pulled a Colt .380 down. “It will fit your hand better. If you want we can go shooting when it warms up a little.”

Q looked at the gun James was holding. It was flat black metal and a black composite grip. It looked deadly. He set the Browning down and took the Colt.

“Do you trust me with a gun? I thought I was your prisoner.” Q said as he leaned back into James’ body.

James hummed and drew his hand up Q’s back. His palm followed the line of Q’s spine. His fingers slipped into the young man’ hair.

“You won’t be going anywhere. No car and I doubt you are stupid enough to try and run away again. Nowhere for you to escape to.” James’ fingers closed tight into Q’s hair and gently pulled up.

The young closed his eyes and tipped his chin down and to the side, giving James better access to his neck and ear lope. James leaned forward and slowly dragged his lips across the ivory skin.

“Maybe you should take precautions and restrain me.”

James’ teeth closed lightly over the muscle at the base of Q’s neck. The young man hissed and arched into the bite, pushing his arse into James’ groin. James hummed and pulled Q tighter to him.

“If you think it might be necessary to do so, I am more than willing to tie you to the bed and entertain myself all day with you.” James whispered.

Q set the Colt .380 down. He brought his arms backwards and wrapped them around Bond’s waist. His palms rested on the globes of James’ perfectly formed bottom.

“I’m your prisoner.” Q answer was breathy.

James reached over and picked up the small Baby Browning and slipped into Q’s front pocket. His hand reached deeper into the pocket just to rub slightly over Q’s hardening length.

“You may want to protect yourself. Better safe than sorry.” James mused into Q’s ear, just before he softly bit down it.

Q groaned and leaned heavily into Bond. “Absolutely.”

~Q~

Moran hated London. It was too bloody cold and wet and the people with too fucking British. He sat on the bench in Regents Park. He wanted this to be a short meeting so he could go over and pay the bloody interfering detective a visit but his contact from MI6 was late. He had been sitting on the freezing cold bench for an hour now. His legs were beginning to go numb. Too many people were noticing him and he was going to have to move soon.

He was just before giving up on the meeting when he saw the man walking hurriedly towards him. The idiot kept taking furtive glances side to side as if expecting an attack at any moment. Moran sighed and waited the man to sit down.

“Where were you?” growled Moran.

“After the incident in France, everything on Bond has been sealed. It’s next to impossible to get any information.” Anthony Prentice said in a dramatic whisper. “I couldn’t find where he has taken the hacker?”

“But Robert is still alive? He is still with Bond?” Moran asked.

He had heard about the failed rescue in France two days before. If Grant wasn’t already shot, Moran would have been more than happy to do so. He didn’t understand why the house was burned down. He thought maybe something had gone terribly wrong the Bond had set the place on fire.

“As far as I can tell, yes. Frobisher is still with Bond and alright. Bond hasn’t called of medical assistance but neither has he requested the address of another safe house. It’s like he disappeared with the man once they made it through immigration in Newcastle.”

“He has to be somewhere. He must have checked in by now. Get me his location!” Moran demanded.

“Look, I don’t work for you. Renard told me to get you the address of the safe house. I did. It was your team’s fault they failed to get Frobisher back. I’m done. No more!” Prentice started to stand up.

Moran grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down on to the bench. He twisted quickly and pushed the muzzle of the Glock into Prentice’s stomach.

“Renard is dead. If he’s not buried yet it’s only a matter of time. Bullet in the brain, you understand. I’m in charge now. I’m taking over everything. Moriarty’s network, Renard’s network, my own. Everything. I’m the boss now and you are mine. I own your arse. Get me that address and get it now. Or else you will be joining Grant and Renard. Do I make myself clear?” Moran hissed out through clenched teeth.

Prentice could see the monster hiding just behind the eyes. He actually shivered with fear.

“Yes . . . just give me a chance. It won’t be easy but I’ll look everywhere.”

Moran let go of Prentice’s wrist and covertly slipped the gun back into the waist band of his trousers. He nodded at the other man and stood up.

“Don’t make yourself scarce. I want to find you. Have something for me tomorrow.”

“I can’t . . .” Moran’s hand moved towards the grip of the gun. Prentice followed the movement with his eyes. “Okay. I’ll have . . . something. I promise.”

Prentice stood up quickly and rushed out of the park. He kept walking as fast as he could without drawing to much attention to himself for two blocks. He turned south towards the entrance to the Tube station. The further he got from Moran the happier he would be. He kept taking glances over his shoulders, expecting to see the blonde haired soldier following him, but he never saw Moran. He was so fixated on what was happening behind him, he didn’t see the smaller man until he ran right into him.

The smaller man was dressed in a black wool shooter’s coat with elbow patches and shoulder patch. He had blonde hair that was flecked with grey. The smaller man seemed dazed and confused. Prentice reached out and grabbed the man before he fell over.

“You okay, mate?” Prentice asked the stranger.

The man glanced up at him with sapphire blue eyes that blinked then seemed to finally focus.

“Yeah, sure, ta.”

The man pushed himself away from Prentice and walked a few more steps down the street. Prentice paused and waited to see if the stranger was alright. The shorter man stepped up to a door painted black with an ornate brass knocker. The man fumbled with his keys, then seemed to give up. He reached up and used the bell.

Prentice turned and proceeded to the Tube Station. The stranger was obviously drunk or stoned. He couldn’t even open the door of his flat.

John Watson waited till the door of 221 Baker Street opened. Sherlock was standing there in the doorway. John looked up at him and Sherlock could read the absolute distress and fear in his lover’s eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John confesses to Sherlock what he has done.

John hated it when he fell asleep in his street clothes. Waking up in tight jeans and a snug shirt usually meant something bad was going to happen to him. A fear that he was in a life and death situation and it was very likely his own live in danger. Granted, he slept in his clothes when he was a resident, but those were scrubs and were just one step above pajamas for comfort. His jeans and his button down shirt were not comfortable sleep attire. Waking up in them always trigger something deep inside the man.

Feeling the constriction of his jeans when he woke brought John to full alertness immediately, but even at that it took him a full thirty seconds to recognize the room he was in. He blamed the delay on the fact he had never actually ever slept in this room while he lived at 221 B. It was Sherlock’s room.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes and took in his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was it was mid-morning, but the grey light of early evening was creeping around the curtains and bathing the room a soft blue colors. The next thing he realized was he was not alone in the bed. In fact the detective himself was there too.

John realized this because John was spread out over the man like a giant octopus. The blonde’s head was cradled in the crook of Sherlock’s shoulder. John’s left arm and left leg were tossed over the man’s abdomen and thighs respectively. Both of Sherlock’s arms were protectively wrapped around John.

“I know you are awake, John.” Sherlock said into the top of John’s head. John felt the sound reverberate in Sherlock’s chest.

John shifted as if to move, but Sherlock tightened his embrace and held John in place.

“Not until you tell me.” Sherlock said.

“Tell you what?” John knew what Sherlock was after but he didn’t want to discuss it.

“John, you are trying my patience. Tell me what happened and tell me now. My own imagination is leading me to unpleasant conclusions.”

“I thought you said it was fruitless to make conclusions without all the data.” John said trying to forestall the inevitable.

“All the more reason you should tell me.” Sherlock said sharply. “What did Mary say to you?”

John waited for moment before he spoke. “Sherlock, I’ve done a terrible thing.”

“You didn’t speak to her? She told you to never see me again and you agreed?”

The detective and the doctor had not discussed their future together but Sherlock did not delude himself into believing John would leave his wife and child for him.

“No, she is leaving me. Mycroft is helping her.” John’s voice broke.

Sherlock’s hands slipped away from the man’s shoulders.

“She’s leaving . . . I don’t understand. Did you tell her about us? Is she angry?”

“I didn’t tell her. Mycroft deduced it and told her.”

“I’ll kill him.” Sherlock said but deep inside himself he was grateful it was out in the open.

“No, Sherlock. Let me tell you the whole story. You won’t be happy with me either.” John shifted and sat up so he could look down into Sherlock’s face. He needed to see the man’s eyes when he told him that he was responsible for letting Moran escape.

“Mary was being blackmailed by Moran. He had ordered her to kill Mycroft. Mycroft and Mary had set a trap for Moran. I thought Mary really was going to kill your brother. I told Mycroft that she had shot you and she would be willing to kill him. I ruined the trap and let Moran get away. I’m sorry. Mary told me she never wanted to see me again because I told Mycroft her secret. Mycroft deduced we had been intimate and blurted it out in front of her. Mycroft is getting her out of the country tonight. I’ll never see her again. I’ll never know my daughter.”

By the time John had finished speaking, tears were streaming down his face and soaking into his shirt. As much as Sherlock was overjoyed that Mary was gone, he couldn’t stand to see John so distraught. He sat up and smoothed his fingers over John’s cheek, wiping away the tears.

“I can get her back for you . . . if you really want her, I will do it.” Sherlock whispered because he didn’t trust his voice.

“Sherlock, I should want her back. I should want my family but not if it means I can’t have you too. I let go of you once. I can’t do it again. I can’t be strong a second time to let go of you. Don’t ask that of me.”

A sad smile came to Sherlock’s face just before he leaned forward and kissed the good doctor.

“I won’t John. I won’t go. I need you as badly as you need me.”

John burst out in loud weeping at that. He wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled the younger man down on top of himself. He held on to his friend, his lover, until he could control his emotions again. Too much had happened that day and he wasn’t ready for anything else to interfere in their world.

~Q~

It was dark and the sun had set hours before. Prentice was reviewing the report on his computer screen again. There was nothing that would indicate where Bond had the hacker. There were no requests for funds to prepare a safe house for use in Great Britain. There were no requests for payment of hotel bills or any charges on Bond’s MI6 bank cards. None of the usual invoices for a mission were coming through. No claims of damages or restaurant bills. Nothing. Bond had disappears.

Prentice sat back into his chair as his eyes glared at the computer screen. Where could Bond have gone that would not require him to spend money? Where he wouldn’t need to pay for them to sleep? Or need to buy clothes, fuel or even food?

The logical place would be right here in London in his flat, but Prentice had check on that. Even if they were in Bond’s flat, there would be charges accumulating that he would be able to follow. Charges for take away, or alteration in the services bill. Nothing.

Bond could have taken the man to a friend’s house, Prentice supposed. But Bond wouldn’t take the prisoner to just anyone. The friend had to be MI6 for safety and Prentice was monitoring all of Bond’s known associates. And it wasn’t like he had any family he could go too. Bond was an orphan.

Prentice sighed and leaned forward again to start pulling up other files. Maybe M was directing funds to Bond though another agent’s account. He studied the various missions going on to see if there were any discrepancies. Again, he found nothing.

But the sentence, ‘ _Bond was an orphan’_ kept coming back to Prentice. The mental image of Bond growing up in a Dicken’s like orphanage made the traitor laugh. Blue eyed Bond holding up a bowl asking for ‘ _some more, please’_. He doubted Bond was ever that angelic as a child. He more than likely blew the orphanage up and kick Bill Sikes in the bollocks.

Then it clicked. Bond was an orphan but obviously not abandoned. He started a search for Bond’s personal record. Prentice snarled when the computer flashed he did not have the clearance for a Double ‘O’s personal record. He decided he would go about it another way. He hacked into Bond’s bank. He found the man’s accounts and saw a routine withdraw sent to a bank in Scotland. Prentice followed that money trail to another account with name of Skyfall Estate on it. Both Bond and man by the name of Angus Kincade were listed on the account as signers. Prentice learned Skyfall Estate account was the working account for a manor house and surround land in the highlands. The account had been active and an increase in expenditure over the last two days for food and clothing. He had an address.

Now he could give it to Moran and hopefully never see the bastard again.

~Q~

Q was standing in the shower. The warm water was splashing over his face and down his long lean body. He rested his palm against the wall and leaned forward slightly. Tipping his head down, he let the warm water wash down his back. It felt good.

Bond had left him alone to shower by himself. The blonde agent had hardly left the young man’s side all day and it was getting frustrating for Q. He knew he was Bond’s prisoner but did the man actually think there was any possible way he was going to try and escape. Where would he go? Back out onto the moor, to possibly freeze to death, or maybe fall in one of those fucking bogs again and drown. The thought sent a chill through Q’s body and he turned the temperature up on the water. The steam began to fill the enclosed shower stall.

Q knew he had to get out of here but how and where to was the problem. He thought he had more than likely convinced Bond that he wasn’t a flight risk, and that the man would drop his guard now, but Q still didn’t have a plan to get out. Bond kept distracting him. Distracting him with that sultry voice and that gorgeous body. The way the man kissed and how good he was with his hands.

Q wondered how a night of euphoric sex would be with the man. Would Bond be just as adept at bring Q off with his cock as he was with everything else he did. The image of Bond laying over the top of Q, his crystal blue eyes watching Q as the blonde made the young man feel good in all the right places, made Q shiver again.

Q closed his eyes and let his fingertips stroke down his abdomen. He licked his lips, tasting the water that was clinging to them; but he was remembering James’ lips. The taste of them. Q could feel the weight growing deep inside himself. He palmed over his hip and teased the hair near his groin. James’ hands were gifted too. The man seemed to know just how much Q enjoyed being touched. He knew how much pressure the young man like pushed up against him in a kiss. How much he enjoyed his hair being played with. A firm and assertive tug without being cruel. Q’s fingertips slipped down his cock, base to head, and he hissed at the sensation.

So wrapped up in his fantasy of James taking him to bed, he didn’t hear the bathroom door open, or the sound of the agent slipping into the room. James stood just outside the shower door, watching as Q took himself in hand. The younger man leaning on one hand as the other slowly stroked up and down his length. His eyes closes and his mouth open. The water droplets clinging to the tips of his hair and running down his lithe body.

James watched as Q closed his fist and began to pump in earnest. His hips twitching before shoving forward into the circle of his fist. The sheer eroticism of the moment was overwhelming. Watching the young man pleasure himself set a low but intense fire burning through James. Unconsciously, he palmed himself through his jeans. His own cock hard and wanting. He could hear the shower, but he could also hear Q. The boy’s panting and soft mews. How his breath was speeding up and becoming shallow. The muted groan as his hips buck forward.

James, not one for self-denial, reached into his jeans and pants to grip himself. Matching Q’s speed, he was soon right on the edge.

Q tipped his face up and right into the water. His mouth open as the water filled it. James wondered if Q was imagining the sensation of the splashing water was someone coming on his face. Suddenly, Bond was awash with image of Q kneeling before him. Naked with his cock in his hand as James pumped his seed out over that pale face. Pearls of cum clinging to Q’s dark eyelashes and deep red lips. That talented tongue lapping at them.

James bit hard into his lower lip as he stifled the groan. His hand slick with his release as he watched Q spray thin pulses of white cum out on the tiles, only to be quickly washed away. Q was panting hard. His whole body slack and leaning into the wall. His ears were ringing as blood finally started to leave his cock and return to his blood stream to carry the needed oxygen. The chemical release was making Q complacent and beyond relaxed.

He didn’t even move when he heard the door of the shower open and the sensation of James stepping up behind him. An arm wrapping around his waist. He was relieved because James took some of his weight and his weakened legs no longer had to hold all of himself up.

“Feel better now?” James whispered into his neck.

“Getting there.” Q said with a little laugh.

“Would you like to tell me what you were thinking of?”

Q smiled and tipped his head back and to the side to look into the brilliant blue eyes he was just fantasizing about.

“I’d rather show you.”

James smiled too. Like the cat just ready to devour the canary.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q finally get to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn the first portion of this chapter if you don't want to read it, skip down to the first ~Q~

The only light was coming from the small fire burning in the grates. The glow casting a gold hue on Q’s ivory skin. James drew Q backwards into the bedroom. With his hands on the young man’s hips, he pulled him towards the bed. Q’s hands moved slowly over the older man’s muscled chest and shoulders. His fingers pausing for a moment over a scar. Lightly teasing the sensitive flesh.

“You are too fucking gorgeous, James. It’s not fair.” Q whispered into James’ lips.

“I was about to say the same thing about you.”

The kiss deepened and tongues moved together in concert. Taking and sharing. Q felt light headed. It had been too long since he had allowed anyone else to touch him like this. Too long since he felt safe enough to lower his defenses, even the little he was doing now with James. He reached out and dragged his fingers through James’ damp hair. The short strands bristled through his fingers.

Q moaned into James mouth. It hadn’t been ten minutes since his last climax but he already felt a need beginning to build within him.

The back of James’ legs hit the edge of the bed and he sat down, letting Q climb into his lap. With his arm wrapped carefully around the young man, James twisted and deposited Q on his back, onto the bed. Quickly moving over him, James caged him between his elbows and knees. He moved down Q’s long thin neck. Taking pleasure as he marked Q’s skin with dark bruises and love bites. Q moaned and twisted; arching up into the other man’s body as he sought out contact and relief.

“James, do you have any condoms?” Q breathed out.

“In the drawer . . . bedside table . . . their old but should still do.” James was moving down over Q’s chest.

Pointing his tongue, he teased the nub of Q’s nipple.

“Get them. I want you inside me.” Q’s voice took on desperate tone that made James’ body hum.

He stretched out and reached for the drawer. Just as he had remembered, there were both condoms and lube from an evening with some nameless woman. He pulled both out and dropped them on the bed, returning rapidly to the young man sprawled out across his bed.

It hadn’t been that long since both men had climaxed in the bathroom, so for several moments they spent time learning each other’s bodies. The smooth blemish free skin of Q’s back and the light stubble on James’ chin. The thin bones and delicate tendons in Q’s wrists and the muscle ‘V’ reached down to James’ loins. James licked down Q’s chest and let his teeth graze over the dusky nub of his nipple. Q groaned as he arched up into the blonde’s mouth.

“God, you are so sensitive.” James whispered as Q twitched and moaned. “I could spend hours just teasing you to hear your voice.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Q sat up and wrapped his hand behind James’ head, to pull the man closer for a heated kiss. His long fingers twisted the short blonde stands.

The two men fought for dominance in the kiss, Bond finally let Q take control as the smaller man twisted and turned Bond to lay flat on the bed. Q crawled over the man’s body and started at his neck. Heated kisses and bruising love bites traced Q’s progression down James’ body to his groin. Q settled himself between the man’s legs before he dragged his nose up the length of James’ cock. The scent of spice and musk a heavy aphrodisiac to the young man. How long had it been since he had indulged himself? Too long since he had taken a lover.

Bond was so different from Moriarty in Q’s mind. One was muscular and forceful while the other was brilliant and creative. Both were astonishing. Q couldn’t wait any longer.

He grabbed the lube and smeared his fingers. James watched as Q leaned up onto his knees above Bond and started to open himself up. For a moment Bond watched, then growled. He grabbed Q’s waist and twisted the young man so he was flat on the bed. He laid down beside Q while positioning his leg over James’.

“I want to do that.” James slicked up his own fingers then slowly teased at Q’s entrance.

“Bond, damn you! Hurry up!”

James laughed darkly as he slipped two fingers into Q. The young man hissed and arched into the sensation.

“Ah . . . yes . . .”

In a few minutes he had Q open and begging for more. The young man was pliant and wanting. His ivory skin was flushed and his green eyes were dark. Q’s hair was even more mussed than normal from James’ insistent fingers. His hard cock was lifting itself away from his thigh only to bounce against the heated skin. James pulled Q’s knee over his left shoulder and placed a kiss to the inside of his thigh. He stared intently at the young man as he lined up and slid into the man. Flexing and rolling his back muscles, James glided deeper savoring the warm sensation of Q taking him.

“You fucking gorgeous man . . .” Q moaned as his fingers gripped James’ arms.

James groaned and let himself push even deeper. His bollocks shoved right up against Q’s arse. He rolled his spine and pushed deeper. Wanting more. Always more.

“I can taste you in my mouth.” Q jested.

James pulled back out slowly, till only the head of his latex covered cock remained in the tight muscles, then he slammed his hips forward. Q’s body was shoved an inch across the bed as he groaned loudly. His whole body now on fire as James picked up a rapid pace. Q’s fingernails left red crescents in James’ skin as he blinked the sweat from his eyes. With a single shift of his hips, James started attacking Q’s sweet spot inside.

Q’s collaboration in the act evaporated as James took over control of the young man’s body. Q just hung on has James pushed him closer and closer to the zenith. His limbs felt detached as if he was floating away. His mind was wiped clean. Then James’ hand wrapped around his weeping cock, and Q shouted out at the touch. Three solid pulls and Q was coating his chest with cum. The searing heat of the liquid seemed to almost burn as it landed on his skin. The white hot fire inside himself exploded and he felt every nerve explode simultaneously.

James watched as the young man climaxed again before him. The tensing of the muscles and the flush of the boy’s skin. How Q would open his mouth and scream in silence then collapse as James continued to pound into him. Q was exquisite. A master piece in his surrender. Bond could only hold on for a few strokes afterwards. The sensation of Q rhythmically milking him as he pulsed inside the young man’s body.

James collapsed to the side. Wrapping his arms around the young man even before they had caught their breaths. Holding Q tight to himself, James waited has his heart slowed and his breathing settled down. He leaned over and lightly kissed Q’s forehead.

“I think you are the gorgeous one.” James said as he pulled the young man tighter to him.

“I can almost believe everything will be alright.” Q said softly.

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

Q didn’t answer the man. Instead, he buried his face into James’ chest. The sweat cooled on their skin. If they didn’t clean up soon or at least get under the covers they would be chilled. But Q refused to move. He didn’t seem to want to move away from James. Bond didn’t move either. He was afraid even the slightest change would break the spell.

~Q~

Tanner was getting angry. He reviewed the files in front of him. Three separate safe houses used in three different missions, had been breached in the last fifteen months. One in Greece, one in Slovene and now the one in France. Each time a trained team attacked and killed almost everyone in the house before leaving. All three missions were involved somehow with Renard; but the last one, with 007 and the hacker, Renard was reported dead before the safe house was requested. Different Double ‘O’s were used in each mission so it wasn’t a neglectful agent whispering something in the wrong person’s ear. And different MI6 teams were assisting with the missions so it couldn’t be a mole in Q Branch, but someone was getting classified information about the MI6 safe houses out to the bad guys.

If information was the common factor, Tanner would look there. He turned and started typing on his computer. Starting with 007’s mission, he pulled up the log containing the list of all data associated with 007 mission in Paris. There were no anomalies regarding who had accessed his information. He looked further down the list to the day the safe house was attacked. Again nothing stood out as an unusual requests for information. Finally he looked after the attack. The only unusual request was for 007 personnel record by someone in accounting, but the request had been denied and no further information was pulled.

It wasn’t unusual for request of personnel files. Quite often it was someone who had a fancy towards one of the operative and who wanted to know more, or get a photo as a keepsake. Most of the staff of MI6 quit after the first try and refusal. Only the Double ‘O’s would try to by-pass the system and get the information. Tanner was certain that if someone in Q Branch wanted the file they would just simply hack the system.

Tanner then check the other two missions. There were no unusual requests for information or files. He was stumped. If there was a mole within MI6 he couldn’t see how they were obtaining the information. The loyalty of Q Branch was beyond question. And the fact that not the same person worked on all three missions showed it couldn’t be an individual releasing information already in their possession.

Then he went back to the request for personal information about Bond. He was not using a safe house now. Why had he taken the hacker and his brother, Sherlock Holmes, to his home in Scotland? Did he know the security of the safe houses was compromised? Had he also supposed there could be a mole in MI6? How would he know?

Then Tanner thought of Sherlock Holmes. The man was a meddler who had compromise more than one mission. And his brother, Mycroft Holmes, was now a major thorn in M’s side. Mycroft had the ear of the Home Secretary and was presently at war with MI6. Could he be involved in letting the location of the French safe house out? Did he actually place his brother in danger to prove a point? What point? Did Mycroft want his brother to be taken? Of killed?

Tanner didn’t know Mycroft Holmes well, but M was very guarded of the man. She said he was involved in too many things within the government. And his brother Sherlock seemed to have rushed out of Scotland to return to London. Why? To tell his older brother where to find his younger one?

Tanner picked up the phone and dialed quickly. The line picked by the second ring.

“What is it Tanner?” M said sharply.

“Ma’am, I believe Mycroft Holmes may be trying to acquirer Tristian Holmes way from Bond.”

“Explain.”

“Sherlock Holmes has returned to London. He knows where Tristian is.”

“Issue a ‘Detain and Hold’ order on Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, immediately.” M barked.

“Yes, ma’am. Should I also send a support team to Scotland for Bond?” Tanner offered.

“If one of the Double ‘O’s can’t hold off a British politician in a three piece suit, I fear for our credibility.”

Tanner smiled. The image of James Bond fending off Mycroft Holmes with a Scottish broad sword was quiet humorous.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Keep me informed.” The line disconnected.

~Q~

Prentice got the phone call late at night. He almost didn’t answer the phone because he didn’t recognize the number. It was an overseas number.

“Hello?” Prentice answered suspiciously.

“Do you recognize the voice?” The voice was scratchy.

Even though Prentice had only spoken to the man a few times, he knew exactly who was calling him. He had been expecting the call for a while now.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have information for me?”

“Yes, sir. Bond is in Scotland.”

“If he makes to London alive, notify me.”

The line went dead before Prentice could answer the ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I post this chapter I am saddened to learn that Martin Freeman and Amanda Abbington have decided to split. I always felt they were such a wonderful and supportive couple. Not like the shallow Hollywood types. I am glad to hear it was a friendly split and that they are putting their children first. I feel somewhat guilty now for how this story is going with John and Mary. I will be changing the ending slightly to amend my guilty conscious. 
> 
> You won't hear form me until after the holidays. I hope you all have a wonderful time and enjoy this special time of the year for appreciating friends and family. Merry Christmas.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is not as it seems.

John was sitting in his chair while Sherlock sat opposite him. The detective’s eyes were studying the doctor. John’s head was tipped backwards over the back of the upholstered chair. His eyes were closed but his mouth was pulled down in a frown. John’s shoulders were tense. The type of tension that would cause pain to his injury. It appeared, that subconsciously, John was trying to punish himself. His fist were balled and flexed tighter then released as he breathed in and out. John’s legs were stretched out and his feet were solidly on the floor. It was obvious John felt the need to admonish himself for something.

“John it wasn’t your fault. What else where you supposed to believe when you walked into that room and saw Mary holding a gun at Mycroft?” Sherlock said in a quiet voice.

“I should have trusted her. I should have known she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the child.” There was pain in John’s words.

“John, she was pregnant when she shot me.”

John tipped his head up and looked at his best friend. Sherlock could see the redness slipping into John’s eyes.

“She was trapped. Magnusson would have had her arrested.” John said.

“Listen to your words, John. She was trapped. She needed to protect herself. Moran trapped her too. She needed to protect not only herself but you and the child. It is just as easy to believe she would have shot Mycroft as enter into a plan with him to trap the criminal. In fact it would be more plausible for her to kill him. Then you would be forced to flee with her. Act like her hero. You know you have a hero complex.” Sherlock said calmly.

John pinched his eyebrows together for moment. A wave of resentment slipped through his body at Sherlock’s words.

“You are not helping yourself right now. I may go with her to avoid your arrogance.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then swiftly stood. He took the two steps to reach John, then he knelt down between John’s out stretched legs. Placing both hands on John’s thighs he leaned up so he was just below eye level with the man.

“John, I’m just pointing out the obvious. You are a passionate man who reacts based on the information available to you. Mary knew how it looked. She wanted to manipulate you into saving her. If you would be willing to forgive her for shooting me, how much quicker would you forgiven her for shooting that pompous arse. It was only reasonable to believe she would kill Mycroft and then turn to you for help. You love your wife because you are a good man.”

“Whereas you are not a good man? I don’t believe you. I believe . . . no, I know for a fact I could never leave you for her.”

John’s hand came up and cupped Sherlock’s cheek. His thumb dragged slowly over Sherlock’s cheek bone. The detective leaned into the touch.

“Then the next question is, how do we convince Mary to stay and for you to have a life with your child?” Sherlock started to say, when they heard the crash of the kitchen window and the sound of the front door of the building being kicked in.

Before the detective and the doctor could react, their home was invaded by numerous men dressed in black combat gear. Helmets, and tinted goggles. Heavy black jackets and heavy canvas trousers. The short AR’s they were holding were already pointed at the two men. The red lights from the laser scopes skimmed over John’s and Sherlock’s chests.

The two men were still sitting as they stared at the half dozen men surround them. Slowly John raised his hands. Sherlock glared at them, but made no move to stand up.

“Did Mycroft send you!?” He demanded.

“GET UP SLOWLY!” One of the armed men shouted at Sherlock.

“NO!”

“Sherlock, please, don’t antagonize them.” John said as calmly as he could.

Sherlock glanced down at his friend then back up at the intruders. He slowly raised his hands too and slowly stood up while asking again.

“Who sent you?”

“The government.” The gun answered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If Bond was in such a hurry to get his car back, he only had to ask.”

“Sir, I know nothing about a car. You are being arrested as a traitor to your country.”

“TRAITOR!” Both Sherlock and John shouted simultaneously.

“Yes, sir.”

Suddenly John and Sherlock were grabbed by two the men and dragged to the floor. Their hands and arms were wrenched behind them and zip tie cuffs were placed on them. The men closing them too tight.

“He is a musician!” John shouted. “Don’t hurt his wrist!”

The doctor was ignored. The black clad men searched Sherlock and John doing a thorough pat down. They slipped black cloth bags over their heads cutting off all light. Panic was surging through John’s body. He started to twist and fight at his bounds.

“I wouldn’t do that, sir. Not if you don’t want to injury yourself before interrogation.” John heard the disembodied voice say above him.

“John, relax.” It was Sherlock’s voice and John instantly stopped moving. “It’s just Mycroft putting on a show. We won’t be harmed.”

But apparently the attackers didn’t get the message. They picked the two men up by their shoulder and carried them out of the flat. Their feet dragging and their ankles occasionally hitting some undisclosed object hard. Sherlock and John could hear Mrs. Hudson crying and demanding to know what was going on in the background. They heard the slide of van door and then the two were tossed into the vehicle. They crashed into the hard metal floor and bounced off each other. They would arrive bruised and sore to their destination. John was beginning to fear it had nothing to do with Mycroft.

~Q~

Bond had set the targets out at twenty meters. Q held a Browning .22 cal target pistol with both hands. James was standing behind him, ready to give the young man advice on how to shoot the gun. Q looked the sleek weapon over and regarded the specially carved wooden grips designed for better control of the gun as it was fired. He lifted his hands and cupped the grip of his right hand in his left. James was about to say something when he noticed that Q had taken the correct stance to shoot. Then without saying another word, Q started firing. He took quick but measured shots. Always bring the barrel back down to the target before shooting again. When he had emptied the seven rounds from the clip, James looked over the young man’s shoulder and down range at the target. Every round had gone through the ten ring.

“You’ve done this before?” James said glancing sideways at Q’s smirk.

“A few times.”

“Who taught you to shoot? Your father? You’re not military.”

“No. Jim Moriarty insisted I learn to protect myself.” Q said as he expertly removed the clip and started to reload it.

James didn’t react to the criminal’s name. The idea the man not only allowed Q to learn how to shoot, but also provided him with a gun made the idea of Q being an unwilling captive harder to believe.

“What did you shoot?” James asked. The man took a step back in a defensive stance. His hand moved closer to his Walther in its holster.

“Jim had me learn with a .22 but Moran had me shooting his 9mm Glock. I didn’t like it as much as the .22, but I could see the reason for the larger caliber.” Q said innocently, unaware of the change in James’ attitude.

James took the .22 cal clip from Q’s hands and passed him the Colt .380 and clip. “Try this one.”

Bond wanted to see what Q would do with the more lethal weapon when given a chance. His own finger twitching for the feel of a gun.

Q glanced down at it then back up at Bond. He pushed the clip into the grip until it set with a click. Then he turned down range, released the safety and let the slid close. A round moved smoothing into the chamber the gun was ready to fire. Once again, Q took up the correct stance for target shooting and aimed the gun at the target.

The first round went high. The gun’s recoil was stronger than Q was expecting.

“The springs too tight.” Q said. Bond smiled as he stepped close again.

“Hold the grip a little tighter. Line the sight at the end of the barrel right under the target.” James said into Q’s ear.

Q fired again. The second round hit the line of the twenty ring.

“Good. Now relax. Breath in then out, in and hold and fire.” James said as he placed his hand under Q’s elbow, pulling it down slightly.

The third round was in the ten ring like the .22 cal rounds.

“Excellent. You have a good eye.”

“Especially since I’m practically blind without my glasses.” Q said smugly. James smiled falsely at the young man.

“Go ahead, empty the clip.”

Q returned his attention to shooting. He shot the remaining four rounds in the handgun. The two men continue practicing with the guns for about half an hour. Afterwards, while Bond is collecting the spent casing, he asked.

“Is there anything else you would like to shoot?”

“That Baby Browning.” Q said.

“Why?” James asked.

“I don’t believe it really works. It’s so small.”

“You would be surprised what can be lethal.”

James was well practiced at putting people at ease. He laughed and wrapped his arm around Q’s shoulders. Q returns the smile, but an uncomfortable itch began to grow across Bond’s skin as the two of them walk back into the house.

~Q~

Bond watched as Q carefully cleaned each gun they had used. Q took the Colt apart and spent an hour working on the components till he smiled and quickly re-assembled the gun. He handed it to James who looked at before dry firing it. The pull on the trigger was half what it was before. It would be smoother to shoot and with reduced spring the recoil would be lessened.

The young man seemed familiar with the cleaning supplies and various gun smith’s tools. Q’s long fingers expertly held the barrels as the cleaning rods slipped through the bores. In the back of James’ mind a seed began to grow.

Bond was familiar with the concepts of brainwashing. There were many different approaches and techniques. But one thing was true about every one of them; brainwashing rarely was complete. It took years to condition someone into being reprogramed. And even then, there were gaps in the programing. If the individual maintained traits of their previous life, the brainwashing was considered incomplete. If they could think for themselves, they were not programed completely by their captors.

According to Sherlock, Q was same man he was before Moriarty. He was still the intelligent and compassionate man his brother claimed he was. Tristian Holmes had be an altruistic young man before Muller had tortured him. Moriarty had come and appeared to rescue Q from the abuse and the torture but was that the plan all along or was it just the criminal took a fancy to the young man?

And if it really was a form of brainwashing, why trust Q with a gun? Why allow him access not only to firearms but teach him how to use them? Bond thought back on every case he could remember of coercive persuasion, and with each, whether it was mental, physical or emotional, the one constant was to never trust the subject completely. Never give them a gun and a way out.

“Done.” Q said looking up from the table as he placed the last clean gun back down on the padded table.

Bond was pulled out of his thoughts and back to the problem of the young man in front of him. He nodded and picked the guns up and placed them back in their places in the displays. He turned to see Q was once again attracted to the small nickel plated gun.

“Later. I promise.” Bond said indifferently. He had no intentions of keeping his promise. “How about you get cleaned up before supper.”

“A warm shower would be nice.” Q said. He still had not gotten used to the cold wind that seemed to blow constantly across the moor. “Would you consider joining me?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be getting dinner ready anytime soon if ever.” James winked at the young man.

Q sighed and leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss to James’ lips. The two men went up to the bedroom and James changed into dry clothes as Q stripped for the shower. James watched as the naked hacker walked into the bathroom. The small smile on James’ face disappeared as soon as the door was closed.

Bond waited till he heard the shower start in the bathroom. He picked up his mobile and dialed the number. The man answered sounded harried.

“Bond, is everything alright?”

“Yes for the time being. Tell me do you have Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes isolated?” Bond asked. If he was going to have to bring Tristian Holmes in, he didn’t want interference from his brothers.

“Sherlock Holmes is in the holding cells downstairs with John Watson. Mycroft Holmes has been shut out of MI6 and MI5. We have isolated him from the Security Service but he still has a connection to the Home Secretary. I believe presently he is trying to secure an appeal to the conviction.” Tanner said.

“I believe it would be better to bring Tristian Holmes in and put him into solitary confinement. I don’t trust his brothers.” Bond felt the sooner he was separated from Q’s influence the clearer he would be thinking.

“Are you worried about another rescue attempt by Moran?” Tanner asked. Bond could hear the sound of Tanner typing on his computer over the phone line.

“I’m not sure what I’m worried about but something is bothering me. I’m not sure I can trust the Holmes.”

Tanner sighed. He agreed with Bond even though he didn’t say it out loud.

“I will inform M and we will start to make arrangements for Tristian Holmes incarceration.” Tanner said calmly.

Bond heard the shower stop. He turned to look towards the bathroom door.

“We will leave in the morning.” Bond said as he watched the door open. “I will keep you informed of our progress. Good-bye.”

Q stepped out of the bathroom. A towel was hanging loosely over Q’s hips. He was rubbing a second towel through his wet hair. He glanced up under the dripping fringe at the other man. Suddenly his eyes became large and he opened his mouth to shout.

“JAMES!”

The pain was instant. Sharp and blinding. James dropped the phone as the back of his head felt like it was being crushed. The man fell to his knees just as the second crash hit the back of his skull and the world went dark.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor to Skyfall.

Mycroft read the report from the guard. The woman had escorted Mary Watson to Dublin. There she was placed into a private sanatorium with full time nursing staff and doctors. She would remain there until the baby was born, then Mycroft had made arrangements for mother and child to travel to New Zealand. From there, Mary Watson would disappear and never darken Mycroft Holmes’ door again.

He had told the woman whom he had known as Mary Morston, that if he ever saw her again, he would have her arrested and tried for attempted murder in shooting his brother. Sherlock might begrudge the man for interfering in his life, but he would not turn a blind eye to someone whom harmed his younger brother. He would do everything in his life to protect his brothers. Especially now that he had been given a second chance to do so.

He still had not spoken to his parents about Tristian. He wasn’t exactly sure why Sherlock hadn’t blurted the information out. For some reason Sherlock had restrained himself. Protected Mycroft. Maybe the good doctor was more of a positive influence on Sherlock than Mycroft originally gave the man credit for.

Mycroft’s one true regret now was John Watson. What he had done to the man by hiding John’s daughter from him. He sighed as he closed the file reporting on Mary’s hospitalization. Mycroft determined that somehow he would make it up to the man. It was a shame that John ruined their opportunity to capture Moran, but the man’s intentions were honorable. He was trying to save Mycroft’s life. Mycroft could forgive John, and somehow he would make it up to him. Redeem himself for separating John from his child. He wasn’t sure how, but he would think of something. He always did.

~Q~

Tanner looked down at the phone in his hand. He had heard James say goodbye, but then he heard the package shout the man’s name. He could hear the distress in the young man’s voice. Something had happened. Bond didn’t seem in distress. He hadn’t given any of the code words used to inform MI6 he was in trouble. There was no reason to believe Bond didn’t have the situation completely in hand. But . . .

Tanner set the receiver back down in the cradle. His eyes refused to look away from the phone. He picked up the file on the retention of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Both men were in the holding cells downstairs. They apparently had made contact with Mycroft Holmes but the government man wasn’t making any moves to retrieve his other brother from Scotland yet. Maybe the two men hadn’t relayed the information of where to find Tristian Holmes yet to Mycroft. Tanner wondered why.

His eyes moved back to the phone.

Returning to the report, he had not made any decision yet regarding interrogation of the two men presently being held downstairs. He should have them interviewed and soon. He wanted to know how they found Bond so quickly in France as well as what had happened at the farm house. It was also important to know why they abandoned Bond and the hacker in Scotland. Was there some kind of falling out between the two brothers? Was Watson called back to his pregnant wife? Did Mycroft recall the two men?

Tanner glanced at the phone again. He dialed Bond’s number. The phone rang several times but no one picked it up.

Bond said he was bring the young man back to London. Probably in the morning. Tanner glanced up at the clock on his desk. Morning was over several hours away. And then there was the long drive down from Skyfall to London. So much could happen in the next twenty-four hours.

He glanced at the phone again.

Feeling he could justify the expenditure to M, Tanner picked up the phone and called the head of the Exfil.

“Allen, Tanner here.”

“Yes, Bill, what can we do for you?”

Tanner could hear the man preparing himself for disaster. The only real reason that the Chief of Staff would be calling the Exfil head was if an agent or operative had found themselves in absolute peril and about to die.

“I realize this is last minute but I would like a scramble exercise.” Tanner said trying to justify sending a team after Bond.

“Scramble exercise?” Allen Crawford asked confused.

“Yes, I want you to send a team to northern Scotland as a training exercise.”

“Alright, I can come up with a scenario and plan for next Monday.”

“No, I want them to leave tonight. Within in an hour if at all possible.”

Allen Crawford didn’t answer Tanner for several seconds. The other man waited quietly till Allen spoke.

“Bill, is there something I should know?”

“I . . . no Allen, but I would feel better if I knew a certain Double ‘O’ had backup right now.”

Again silence on the line. Then Allen spoke again.

“Training mission to Scotland. Okay. But it will take several hours to establish mission parameters. I need a dust down. And package information. I can have a team ready to move in . . .” Tanner could hear the other man hum before speaking again. “Three hours we will be air-born. At sight in five and half.”

“Thank you, Bob. I will have the location and package information emailed to you in just a few minutes.” Tanner disconnected the phone call. He would either owe Crawford a bottle of scotch and an apology to Bond. Or Bond could buy the Crawford the bottle of scotch for saving his life.

~Q~

Bond woke with a splitting headache. He groaned as the throbbing pain moved forward through his skull to his eyes. Slowly he opened his eyelids and blinked. He tried to lift his hand but found it trapped beside his body. It took Bond several seconds to realize he was tied to a chair. His wrists and ankles were taped with several strips of heavy duty duct tape. He tried to move but couldn’t. He opened his eyes when heard the guttural laugh in front of him.

He was in the large drawing room on the ground floor of Skyfall. The room was dark but the fire burning in the large fireplace. He was sitting facing the fire, the heat from the flames were growing hotter and slowly becoming painful to his exposed skin of his face and arms. Before him, between the fireplace and himself, he could make out the silhouette of a man. Tall and broad shoulders. It wasn’t Q.

The man shifted and let the firelight fall across his features. Bond could see the blonde hair and the strong chin. The eyes appeared watery grey and the nose had been broken several times. Bond recognized Sebastian Moran immediately. He groaned and closed his eyes. Covertly he listened to tell if there was anyone else in the room with them. He could sense someone off to his left in the shadows.

“Wake up, Bond!” Moran growled.

Bond sighed and tried to act unconcerned as he subtly tested the bindings around his wrists again.

“Who invited you?” Bond asked indifferently.

“I invited myself.” Moran said coolly. “Thought it was time to take back what was mine. What you stole.”

Bond noticed Moran glance over to where he sensed the other person. Bond twisted his head and the movement made his skull feel like it was about to explode. He swallowed the bile that threatened to escape from his throat. Blinking his eyes, he focused his vision on the young man sitting in the shadows. Q’s pale face was almost ghostlike in the flickering firelight.

“Seb, I said I would go with you, just leave him alone.” Q said hurriedly.

“But your lover boy just woke up. Don’t you want to say goodbye before we leave?” Moran teased.

“Seb, let’s just go!” Q pleaded.

Moran laughed again and turned back towards the fire. He grabbed the heavy iron fire poker and started stabbing at the fire.

“It would be rude to leave just yet.” Moran said. “Especially when I have to teach this man a lesson.”

He laid the iron poker down in the flames. The metallic smell of the heating poker reached Bond. Q stood up and rushed forward towards Moran. Bond could see Q was not restrained. No handcuffs or ropes. He was free and could escape if he wanted to. Q came up and stood beside Moran. He watched as the man stared down at the flames.

“Seb, what are you going to do?” Q asked. “Let’s just leave. You don’t need to do this.”

“You didn’t need to fuck him either! You knew I was coming for you!” Moran growled at Q. He grabbed Q by the throat and wrapped his fingers around the young’s neck. “You let that bastard touch you!”

“I don’t know what you are talking about!” Q hissed out as his voice struggled to be louder than a whisper.

“I’m not an idiot, Robert! The way you looked at him when you came out of the bathroom! He’s seen you naked! You’ve been with him! YOU FUCKED HIM WHILE YOU SAID NO TO ME!”

“Seb!” Q mouthed.

Bond struggled against the duct tape holding him fast to the chair. Moran let go of Q’s throat and shifted his hand to the boy’s hair. Gripping it tight, he leaned down and picked up the smoking poker. The tip of the metal glowing dark red. He waved it near Q’s face. James fought harder as he watched Q’s eyes widen in terror as the searing metal passed near his cheek.

“Please, Seb . . .” Q whispered. He slowly brought his hands up and rested them on Moran’s chest.

Q didn’t push Seb away. Instead, he moved closer to his captor. He moved his hand up and cupped the man’s cheek.

“Seb, please, kiss me.”

Moran stopped moving. He glared at the young man, confused by the request.

“You told me that you would only kiss me again if I asked you. Seb, kiss me.”

Bond flexed the muscles in his forearms in hopes of tearing the tape but it didn’t give. The chair creaked but the man could not free himself. He was trapped watching this play out in front of him.

“Robert . . .” Seb moaned as he dropped the poker. The heavy metal poker clanged as it hit the stone hearth.

Moran leaned forward and paused for just a moment to see if Q was going to stop him. Then he plunged forward and kissed the young man. Groaning as he finally could feel the young man return the kiss to him.

Bond watched as Q’s hands slid slowly down the man’s chest and pause just at his waist. He watched as Q turned his head more and opened his mouth to allow Moran entry. The sound of the two men kissing seemed obscenely loud as Moran hummed in approval again. Anger and hatred started pouring into Bond’s veins. He missed Q’s hand moving to his pocket and the subtle shift in his stance as he brought his hand up between their two bodies.

The sound was muted. It actually sounded more like a balloon popping than a bullet being fired. Bond watched as the two men before him separated by only an inch. The second shot was louder but still not the normal sound of a gunshot. Bond could see the flash of the muzzle between the two of them. Q backed up and the red stain on his shirt was obvious. Bond’s eyes fixed on the young man. His shirt and the blood. The reflection of firelight off the polished nickel finish of the gun. Even though he couldn’t see the barrel clearly in the young man’s hand, Bond knew the name Monique was engraved on the barrel. His mother’s gun. The Baby Browning was in Q’s hand.

Q took another step back and Bond fought violently against the ties holding to the chair. He was so fixated on Q, he didn’t notice Moran until the man fell to his knees. Bond’s eyes flew to the man as he collapsed and fell to the floor. The red stain on his chest grew as the blood spread across his chest.

Q stood back from the dead man, and stared down at him. In his hand he held the miniature gun. He raised it one more time and fired. The gun making a popping noise like a cork from a bottle. Moran’s body didn’t even move as the bullet entered into his cheek, just below the man’s left eye.

“Q!” Bond said quickly.

The young man glanced over at him, then leaped to his side. Q immediately knelt and pulled out a knife to start cutting the duct tape.

“Are you hit?” Bond asked terrified by the blood on Q’s shirt.

“I’m sorry, James! I don’t know how he found us!” Q said as he yanked the strips of tape from around Bond’s wrists. “There are two more in the kitchen. I think. Moran sent them away once he had you tied up.”

As soon as James was free from the chair, he cupped Q’s face in his hands and lifted the boy to stand in front of him. He pushed forward into a bruising kiss, taking from the boy all the fear and anxiety he felt.

“Did he hurt you?” Bond asked as he quickly ran his hands over Q’s chest.

“No, he came to take me back.”

He grabbed Q’s wrist and pulled him towards the gun room.

“Are you sure about the other two?” Bond asked as he pushed Q into the darkened room. Bond immediately pulled the Colt .380 down and checked the loaded magazine. He would have preferred his Walther, but that was upstairs, hidden in the bedroom.

“I saw only two more. He told them to go the kitchen but I would have thought they would have come when they heard the gunshots.” Q said.

“They probably didn’t realize it was gunfire they heard. That thing doesn’t sound like a normal gun going off.” James looked around the corner of the door. He still had not seen the other two men. “Stay here.”

“No.” Q said as he reached up and cupped James’ face.

“Q, I’m going to go kill them.”

“I don’t want to be separated from you. Please, don’t leave me.”

James reached up and mirrored Q’s hand on his face. He leaned down for a chaste kiss. Soft and gentle as he realized Q had tried to sacrifice himself for James’ safety. He had no reason to fear Q any longer.

“Stay behind me. Place your hand on the center of my back and don’t take it off.”

Q nodded his head and followed James out of the room. Silently they walked through the house towards the kitchen. James and Q could smell coffee and hear the two men speaking softly. Kneeling down, James carefully glanced around the frame of the door. The two men were standing towards the back of the room. Their guns were in their holsters and in their hands were mugs of coffee. James twisted back and leaned against the wall. He stood up and gently pushed Q back away from him, waving for Q to take cover. Then in one smooth motion he rounded the corner of the door and opened fire. Three shots later, both men were dead on the flagstone floor. Neither one had been able to draw their weapon.

James pulled Q out the door of the house and pushed into the front seat of Moran’s Land Rover. He had the car speeding down the road and away from Skyfall before Q even thought to ask where they were going.

“London.” James said.

“To prison?” Q asked in a half voice.

“I’m hoping to a new career for you.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tanner finds answers to his questions.

M sat reading the description of Bond and Moran’s confrontation in Scotland. Her mouth was in a thin line with the corner’s turned down. A row of wrinkles creased her brow as she read the part about being taped to the chair. She sighed as she finished the report and flashed her bright intelligent blue eyes over the top of the report.

Bond sat as still as he could as the woman scowled at him. Q fought to not squirm under her unrelenting stare but finally failed and shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

“Do you have anything to add, Bond?” M’s voice was clear and dignified, but it also had a cold edge like a knife.

“No, ma’am.” Bond tried to not sound smug.

M’s eyes shifted over towards Tanner who was standing next to her desk.

“And Tanner, you insist that the Exfil mission you sent to Scotland at the last minute was a training exercise?”

“Ah, ma’am . . .”

“I told Tanner, Skyfall was an excellent area for a training exercise for several different mission parameters. It just so happened that they were sent at the same time Moran unexpectedly arrived to capture Tristian Holmes.” Bond interrupted Tanner’s apology.

The Chief of Staff glanced over at the agent. There was a glint in Bond’s eyes. Tanner realized he was now in the Double ‘O’s debt and that could be expensive.

“I’m sure that we will be sending numerous teams to train in the Scottish Highlands now that we have the laird’s permission.” M said condescendingly. She knew that Tanner had over stepped his authority in ordering a team to aid with Bond, but it was good to know that he erred on the safety of the agents and not the paper-pushers.

“So, Mister Holmes, you have returned to England to start your incarceration. Are you now prepared to go to jail?” M turned her attention to Q as she emphasized the word ‘now’.

“Ma’am?” Q’s voice wavered.

“Tristian Holmes discovered the existence of two spies working within the MOD ten years ago.” Bond said calmly. “He exposed them and saved countless lives in the process. He has an intimate working knowledge of several different criminal organizations around the world, include Moran’s and Renard’s.”

“Are you suggesting that we allow a known traitor and criminal to aid us in bring those organizations down?” M asked raising an eyebrow.

“It wouldn’t be the first time MI6 had hired a crook.” Bond smiled.

“Or a scoundrel and cad.” M returned the smile. Bond nodded his head.

“I’m not a traitor. I’ve never done anything that harmed the safety of England. Even when I was working with Moriarty, he never trusted me with anything that would compromise Great Britain.”

“And terrorizing the country with that broadcast of Moriarty?” M asked the subtle question of Q’s involvement in the master criminal’s organization.

“Moriarty’s name still causes fear. It was a way to quickly climb to the top of the criminal ladder.” Q glanced back and forth between the two people then added. “I realize that both Moran and Renard are also dead, but their organization are still operating. And just like Moriarty’s they will be incorporated into another criminal’s network. I have the ability to give MI6 access to those networks and together we can bring them down.”

M stared at the young man for a moment.

“You are mistaken, Mister Holmes. Renard is not dead. He was at a private sanatorium in Northern France until two days ago. 008 was sent to terminate him. Unfortunately, Renard was warned killed 008 and a nurse before the man could complete his mission. He has since disappeared.”

Q glanced over at James. The blonde’s face remained emotionless but Q could tell James was upset.

“And once we shut down all the criminal networks you helped established, what will we do with you, Mister Holmes?” M continued.

“Q is an expert in computers and computer systems. He is one of the best hackers in the world. And I have seen how proficient he is with designing and improving weapons. He would be an excellent addition to our Quartermaster program. He could bring Q Branch into the twenty-first century.” Bond said.

M glanced between the two men while she thought of all the arguments to such an arrangement.

“How much interference should we expect from your brother, Mister Holmes?”

“Which one?” Q asked.

“Either.” M said. A small smile acknowledged the young man’s frustration with his own family.

“None what so ever. I do not plan on re-establishing a relationship with my elder brother and as for Sherlock. I doubt I would be able to hold his attention for very long. I’m sure his absence is proof of his non-intrusion in my life.”

M looked up at Tanner, who cleared his throat.

“Yes, ah . . . your brother Sherlock is not absent. He is presently being held down stairs in our holding cells. He and Doctor Watson. We have had a problem with information leaked on Bond’s mission to retrieve you from Moran. We determined it might have been coming from the detective.” Tanner explained.

“I assure you, Sherlock is a pain in the arse, but he is not stupid. He is not your leak.” Q said forcefully.

“Mycroft?” M asked.

“Interfering but not an information threat. No, it has to be someone else.”

M nodded her head. “As it stands, you are still a convicted traitor to Great Britain. Until you can prove your value to us, you must be detained at her Majesty’s pleasure.” M turned to Tanner. “Take Mister Holmes down to the cells. Allow his brother to speak to him in one of the interview rooms before releasing Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.”

~Q~

Q sat alone in the interview room while he waited for his brother. The dark grey sound proofing on the walls and the two cameras visible in the corners of the room added to the intimidation factor of the small confined space. Q found his palms were sweating as he waited. He smeared his hands down his trouser legs and wished his brother would hurry up. He was sure Sherlock was arguing with someone somewhere instead of getting in there to help him.

The door opened and he was correct. He could hear Sherlock’s deep voice coming down the hallway.

“Only an idiot would think we were so incompetent to leak vital information. Who was the Rhodes Scholar who came up with that theory? Surely, they are a candidate for MP.”

Q rolled his eyes as his brother stepped into the room followed closely behind by John.

“Sherlock, now is not the time to piss anyone else off. Wait until we are at least outside the building.” John said quietly behind the detective.

Sherlock glanced at his sitting brother, then looked around the room at the various cameras. He slowly walked over and stared up into one of the lens.

“I see four different camera. I’m sure there are more.” Sherlock said unconcern.

“Four? Only two . . . Oh . . .” John realized there were also hidden cameras that he didn’t see.

“I’ve spotted five while I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Q said calmly.

Sherlock shrugged and went to sit across the table from his brother. Leaning back in the chair he crossed his long legs.

“Does Mummy know you are back yet?” Sherlock asked.

“I haven’t said anything. Do you believe Mycroft would have told them yet?”

“He would prefer to be the one to tell them. Mitigate his culpability to your absence. I heard that MI6 has a mole again.”

“I believe so. I am supposed to help them find him.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Sherlock asked. His interest being peaked.

“I am one of the best hackers in the world, Sherlock. I can follow who has been accessing classified documents.” Q’s voice carried an edge to it.

“I’m sure MI6 has also traced those lines of inquiry. Surely you can come up with a more inventive way to find the mole. Something that will convince the Secret Service that they can’t live without you and keep you out of prison.”

Q stared at his brother for moment. Sherlock’s face remained neutral but his younger brother could see the silent pleading going on in Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock wanted to help his brother. Wanted to save Q from prison. The two of them needed to solve this puzzle to save Q.

The younger man shifted in his chair and relaxed his body. “I am open to suggestions.”

“If I had any I would gladly share them with you. Is there any similarities in the leaks?” Sherlock asked.

“Same criminal organization. Renard’s from Paris.”

“But he is dead.” John interrupted the two brothers.

“No, he isn’t.” Q said glancing up at him.

Sherlock nodded his head. “Of course. His body was missing from the crime scene because his people had found him alive. They must have taken him to get medical attention.”

“You saw where he was shot?” Q asked.

“Yes, an associate called us in. Your friend, James Bond had used a sniper rifle to shoot both Renard and his mistress Elektra King. Her body was at the scene, his was missing.” Sherlock explained.

“James?! He shot Renard?” Q asked.

“Yes, and from evidence at the scene it must have been a head shot too. Remarkable that Renard survived. It should have been lethal.”

“If the man is still alive, he will seek revenge against James.” Q said leaning forward. “We have to stop him. We have to find the mole and stop Renard from getting any more information.”

Sherlock glanced up at John. The blonde shrugged his shoulders. “We should go and warn Bond.”

“Agreed.” Sherlock stood. “Tristian think about who would have access to every mission brief and yet be so innocuous no one would think of them.”

“I don’t know!” Q declared.

“Well, Lestrade always said when you’re stuck you should ‘follow the money’.” John offered.

“That is why Lestrade is always call me in on cases. He’s an idiot.” Sherlock went and knocked on the interview room door. It quickly opened. “Tristian we will be back to get you out of here. Don’t worry.”

“I can take care of myself, Sherlock. Just make sure James is safe.”

The two brothers paused for a moment then Sherlock strode out of the room with John behind him. The two men followed the guard into the lift. Sherlock pulled his mobile out of his pocket and seemed to be reading through a series of text messages. He sneezed and dropped the mobile. The guard glanced down at the phone resting at his feet. Both the guard and John bent down to pick it up. The guard grabbed it first, then handed back to the detective.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said politely as the doors of the lift opened the three men exited.

Sherlock was out on the pavement and waving a taxi down when John stepped closer and whispered.

“That was an extremely dangerous thing to do. Pick-pocketing a MI6 guard.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, John?” Sherlock smiled.

“Just give me the guard’s gun and you figure out how we are supposed to learn where a secret agent lives in the city of seven million.”

The two men climbed into the back seat of the cab. Sherlock covertly handed the Browning over to the doctor.

“Address?” the driver asked.

“Just start driving please.” Sherlock said.

The cab took off into traffic.

“Well?” John asked.

“Mycroft would move heaven and earth to get into Tristian’s good graces again. I don’t believe acquiring one address to a secure flat would be too Herculean task for my brother.” He pressed the numbers on his phone and held it up to his ear. “Hello, brother dear. I have a job for you.”

~Q~

Tanner watched the feed from the interview room with the two Holmes. He saw the shift in Q’s body as the two brothers stopped making snide comments to each other and started to work together. It was amazing to see how fast the two men came to what was obviously the correct conclusion but seemed remarkable anyway. He wondered if Bond had divulged anything to the pair but decided against that quickly. Bond was too experienced to let anything slip.

Then he heard the comment John Watson made. ‘ _Follow the money.’_ It was an old adage but it could still be true. Tanner remembered the only data request that was unusual. Someone in accounting wanted the personal file on James Bond. Could it be that simple? Was it so obvious they all over looked it? _‘Follow the money.’_

Tanner pulled up the records and saw the same name involved in each and every voucher assigned to the three different mission. Anthony Prentice. Tanner quickly picked up his phone receiver and dialed internal security.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> less than forty-eight hours to the new series of Sherlock. Yeah. Thank you all for your wonderful support and comments while I have been writing this story. You really do make it easier for me.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the meeting between Sherlock and Bond we were hoping for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag for torture in this chapter. Bond is getting too old for this shit.

Bond stood in his flat staring out the large bay windows and down onto the street. In his hand he held a crystal highball filled with Talisker. The smoky amber liquor left a slow burn as he took another sip. His head was still hurting from Moran’s attack the previous night. He had denied M’s order and avoided Medical. Instead he took some of the blue pills he had in the medicine cabinet in his bathroom and had another drink. He wondered if Q was missing him tonight.

Bond had left the young man in the holding cells in the sub-basement of MI6. He didn’t want to leave him there but he had very little option to do otherwise. The young man watched silently as the lock was turned on his holding cell. His eyes fixed on the lock. Bond wondered if Q was thinking of a way to hack the electronic lock. Maybe escape and disappear from London and Bond. He didn’t want to think Q would willing leave him.

It was his hope that Q could quickly prove his value to M by discovering the identity of the mole. Then maybe, Q could be incorporated into MI6 and Quartermaster’s program. Q had proven his skill with computers, and his familiarity with guns and gun-smithing was remarkable. He would be perfect as a Quartermaster. Bond fantasized about Q whispering in his ear as he seduced another mark. The boffin’s voice humming through his mind as he performed his job.

Bond smiled for a moment, then took another sip of scotch. He thought about the head of Q Branch. Major Boothroyd. The old codger was pushing eight-five if he was a day. The former Army major had run the department during Bond’s entire time with the Secret Service. He was recalcitrant and stodgy. Someone like Tristian Holmes would be an anathema to the old man. The fact they both went by the code name of Q was indeed humorous. Bond wondered what would happen when both men answered to it the first time.

Missing someone was a foreign emotion to Bond. He had parted from numerous lovers, and acquaintances but he hadn’t felt this awkward hole in his chest since he had lost Vesper. The woman’s green eyes still flashed in his dreams and the sound of her bedroom moans carried on after he woke. But now those eyes were beginning to be replaced by another set of green eyes in his dreams. Soft dark curls encircled a pale face, and ivory skin with soft sultry voice caused him to wake up hard.

Unlike Vesper, Q wasn’t dead. He was being held in the cells of MI6 and Bond wasn’t sure if he would ever see the boy again. Maybe like Lynn, Tristian Holmes would be lost to him too. He took another sip of scotch.

The lights were off in the flat and he was silhouetted against the streetlamps outside. He was staring at the reflection of the colored lights on the wet pavement. It had been raining since they had returned from Scotland. Christmas was only two days away, and houses around him were decorated. The multihued of fairy lights colored a world that would normally appear almost black and white at this time of night.

He sighed again and took another sip of Talisker. The liquor warmed his body as it traveled downward to his stomach. When the hairs on his arms suddenly raised. James paused the glass half way to his mouth. His eyes glancing over to the tiny twitching hairs of his forearm. He slowly lowed the glass while covertly bring his right hand up towards his holster. The sound of a creaking board was the only indication he had as to the location of the trespasser.

He grabbed his Walter and twisted but the Taser was fired before James had a chance to bring his gun up to aim. His hands clenched down on what they were holding. The gun fired while the glass snapped in his grip. Bond fought the surge of electricity running through his body and overriding his nerve impulses. The electric shock ceased and Bond’s muscles began to loosen, then the Taser fired again. It was too much and Bond dropped to his knees. The muscles in his jaw locked and he couldn’t even open his mouth to scream. The pain was excruciating. Then it stopped.

He fell forward but caught himself. He was on his hands and knees staring down at his wooden floor. Panting heavily, he tried to catch his breath as the muscles in his chest were slow to allow him to take a breath. The gun slipped from his grip as he slowly looked up and into the face of his attacker.

The Taser fire again. The third discharge in the last two and half minutes. His body twisted in agony as every nerve fiber flared. He couldn’t breathe, or move or even scream. His vision began to white out and the ringing in his ears drowned out every other sound. His last thought he had was Renard had found him.

~Q~

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Bond woke to find himself tied to a chair. Both times, the chair were actually his. For a disturbing moment he wondered if it was time for him to consider retirement once he was able to extricate himself from yet another upcoming torture. He sighed as he quickly assessed his condition. Every muscle in his body was complaining like they had been on a twenty mile force march with full military pack. His head hurt worse than it did after he woke up from Moran hitting him and he wondered if he had hit again when he passed out. His chest ached and his mouth felt like it was full of cotton wading.

“Wake up!” The slap was hard and fast. The person didn’t care if they left Bond bruised. Not good.

Bond groaned and slowly opened his eyes. Unfortunately it wasn’t a dream. Renard was standing just two feet away from Bond. The restrained man could see the healing wound to the Renard’s right forehead. The bullet must have passed right through King’s head and into the Russian. Bond wasn’t sure how the man was still alive.

Renard must have seen the analysis going on behind Bond’s eyes. He smiled. Then punched Bond hard in the face. Much harder than should be possible.

“It is called Hypoalgesia. It is a sensory and autonomic neuropathy. The bullet you put in my brain will kill me eventually, but until then my ability to feel and experience pain decreases. You have turned me into a monster and I am here to repay you for it.” Renard said before he punched Bond so hard again, he was certain the man must have broken his hand.

Bond could feel his own ribs break and a sudden burning pain in his chest. He was still breathing but he wondered for how long. Not a collapsed lung but blood would be pumping into his chest, building pneumothorax.  

“Do you know the last time I saw my beautiful Elektra, her face was a blood pulp as your bullet exited her and hit me? Do you know how special she was? How perfect?”

“She was an insane bitch and needed to be put down.” Bond hissed between clenched teeth.

Renard roared and punched Bond again. He could feel more bones snapping as the pain in his chest increased. Renard jerked away and turned back with a silenced automatic. He shot one into Bond’s left thigh. It burned. A throbbing blunt pain that seem to engulf his whole leg.

“SHUT UP! YOU NEVER KNEW HER! YOU NEVER TOUCHED HER!” Renard shouted.

“What makes you think I never had the whore? She would fuck anyone who gave her the time of day.”

It was a dangerous game he was playing. He hoped against hope, Renard would get so upset that he would make a mistake and Bond could escape. The other side of this coin was Renard would get so upset that he would go ahead and kill Bond fast instead of slow. He took a deep breath and readied himself for more torture.

“SHE WOULDN’T! SHE WAS MINE!”

“You forget, I met up with her at the café the day before. She’s the one who told me where to find you. She led me to you. She wanted you dead.” Bond was expecting another punch. Instead, Renard shot him again but his time in the right shoulder.

Bond finally cried out in pain. He tipped his body as far forward as his bindings would allow. For a moment he thought he would vomit. He wanted to curl himself into a ball but he couldn’t.

“I know what you doing.” Renard said quietly. Bond took a deep breath. The taste of bile filled his mouth. “You think that if you can make me angry enough I will kill you quickly. Save you the hours of pain I want you to suffer.” Renard smiled. Bond could see that half of the man’s face was paralyzed and didn’t move as the other half did. It was an eerie twisted expression. “Do not worry. I will not lose control. I have thought about this for days lying in that hospital bed. Thinking about you. What I would do to you. How much I would enjoy watching you bleed out slowly while I cut her name into your skin over and over again.”

Renard slapped Bond’s face so the blonde would look up at him.

“It is a shame you don’t have someone special like Elektra I could go visit after I’m done here with you.”

Before Bond could control himself, his eyes flashed with recognition. But the face he saw wasn’t Vesper’s but Q’s. Not a woman squatting in the shower crying out of fear, but a young man touching himself under the spray of water while he fantasized about Bond.

Renard saw the light shift in Bond’s eyes and realized what he had said.

“Oh, there is someone. Someone special to you. I will have my mole find that special someone and pay them visit.”

Bond started fighting against his bindings. He pulled at the ropes but they didn’t give. The glint off a knife blade flashed. Bond looked up and then noticed a shift in the shadows behind Renard. Bond focused his eyes on his tormenter. Renard tried to smile but only half of his face lifted. He waved the eight inch blade under Bond’s gaze before he slowly dragged down the front of his shirt slicing the buttons away from the cotton and exposing James’ naked chest.

Bond took a quick deep breath. Preparing for the onslaught of pain, when he noticed the shift in the shadows again. Someone was there. Someone was watching. Bond’s eyes drew back to Renard as he leaned back in the chair. Slowly, Renard drew the point of the knife down Bond’s body. Not cutting but still leaving a red scratch. The blood from the right shoulder wound was sticky and warm as the blade dragged through it.

Bond closed his eyes and waited for something to happen. All he could hear was Renard’s labored breathing and the minute gasps he was making with each touch of the blade to his exposed skin. He opened his eyes and noticed the shadow was gone. He didn’t want to look widely around the room just in case Renard wasn’t aware they weren’t alone. He focused his eyes again on Renard’s. The man was concentrating. His eyes followed the path of the knife point. The thin red lines he was leaving behind. Then he paused and looked James right in the eyes, just as he plunged the blade into James right arm.

Bond screamed out in pain just as the gun fired. Renard twisted and glared at John Watson. Surprised to see the doctor standing there. He pulled the blade from James’ arm then turned and started to walk towards John.

“Keep shooting till he’s down!” Bond shouted.

John hesitated for a second. Renard raised the blade and charged. John narrowed his eyes and opened fire. The gun cracked once, then twice, then over and over again. John fired at the man, empting the clip even after Renard as down on the floor. The pool of blood appearing black as oil in the darken room.

Bond swayed in the chair. His own blood pouring from his own wounds. He was light-headed and felt sick. Sherlock slipped from the shadows and was working on his restraints when John knelt in front of him. The doctor’s eyes quickly assessed the injuries. Bond heard John speaking to someone but no one was answering him.

“Medical emergency. Male, early forties. Multiple GSW.” John said clearly. “Yes, Wilton Crescent.”

“No . . .” Bond tried to stop John. “MI6 . . . call them.”

John glanced over at Bond. Sherlock had cut the last rope that tied Bond to the chair.

“Don’t worry 007. I’m sure Mycroft has interrupted that call and is sending his own people here now.” Sherlock said calmly as the spy collapsed forward into his arms.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visits to hospitals.

Sherlock and John walked down the hall of the private sanitarium. For once, it was John who was rushing and Sherlock who was lagging behind. It hadn’t taken Sherlock long to find this hospital. He simply asked his brother Tristian to hack Mycroft’s private computer. Sherlock didn’t want to be here. With every step they took, he felt his life slowly imploding. He could feel his heart being torn from his chest, but he had promised John. He would never intentionally harm John again. He found the address and gave it to John. The next day, they got on the ferry and arrived in Dublin. They reached the door of the hospital room and paused. John glanced up at Sherlock, hoping for conformation before he went any further. Sherlock forced a smile and nodded his head.

John knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

Mary Watson was sitting up in the bed. She was paler than John remembered his wife being. Frail looking in her hospital gown and robe. She was turned so she could look out the window at the park across the road. She glanced toward the door and saw John walk slowly in. He paused for moment expecting her to say something, but when she didn’t he walked closer to her.

“Mary, I know what you said, but . . .”

“She’s beautiful John.” Mary nodded over to a bassinet on the opposite side of the hospital bed. John glanced over and saw the small bundled wrapped in pink blanket. He took in a quick deep breath. “Go ahead, pick her up.”

John looked back up at his wife. He could see tears in her eyes. John moved slowly over to the bassinet. He looked down at the sleeping child. Carefully, he scooped up his daughter and cradled her in his arms. The small child had a round pink face and wisps of pale yellow hair. Her lips were pursed into a pout. John could feel his heart bursting as he looked down into his daughter’s face.

“Mary, oh my God, look at what we did.” John whispered. His eyes dampened.

“Yes, John. She’s ours.”

John looked up at his wife. He could see the woman he had fallen in love with. The sweet loving wife who cared for him and loved him. Mary’s eyes were shining brightly as she watched John and the baby.

“Did you name her?” John asked.

“Rosemond Mary Watson.” She smiled.

“Rosemond? My mother’s name?”

Mary nodded her head. Tears finally slipped from her eyes.

John pulled the baby up to his face and breathed in deep his daughter’s scent. Baby powder and warmth. He smiled as he placed a gentle kiss to Rosemond’s head. He rocked his daughter in his arms as she gave a soft coo. Mary watched father and daughter bond.

“John, I’m sorry.” Mary said glancing down at her folded hands. “I said things in London . . .”

“Mary, we both did. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was. I knew how special your relationship with Sherlock was. I knew before we were married that you loved him. Loved him more than you could ever love me. I told myself it didn’t matter. I tried to convince myself I could change you, but . . . I never should have tried to change you, John. You were perfect just like you were. You were the man I loved and will always love. I should never tried to hurt you by taking her away. Please forgive me.”

“Always Mary. Always. But we can’t . . .” John started.

“I know. Now that you and Sherlock are together, I know. But that doesn’t change the fact that Rosemond needs both of us. She needs her mother and her father.” Mary said still unable to look up at John.

“Mary, what are you saying? What are you asking of me?”

John watched as Mary dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. Her fingertips played at the hem of the sheet.

“Mary? Please tell me.”

“John, I can’t take her away from you. I just can’t hurt you like that.” The tears now fell rapidly from Mary’s eyes. “I’m sorry I even threatened you. I also know I can’t take you away from Sherlock.”

“I love Sherlock.”

“I know. And I want you to be happy, so I guess that means I want the two of you to be together. I also want to raise our daughter together.”

“Are you consider returning to London?” John asked as his heart began to race.

“I want to return. I want us to be friends and good parents. I want us to be all the things I never thought I could be. I love you, John, but I know we can’t be married. But we can be parents together.”

Now tears streaked down John’s face.

“Are you saying that you will let me be in Rosemond’s life? I can raise our daughter?”

“I’ll return and we will work it out. Together . . . all of us.” Mary smiled although the tears kept slipping down her face.

John stepped closer to his wife and kissed her cheek.

“You should tell Sherlock.” She said as her voice broke.

“Mary, I will always love you.” John whispered.

“I know. But you are in love with him.”

John brought his hand up and cupped Mary’s cheek. She leaned into the touch and closed her eyes then nodded her head. John stepped back and rushed to the door. He pulled it open to find Sherlock pacing in the hallway. Sherlock stopped immediately as the door opened and he saw John holding his baby daughter. Slowly, Sherlock stepped forward. He could see the large smile of John’s face and he could tell how happy John was.

Sherlock took in a deep breath and prepared himself for the news.

_“John is going to leave me.”_ Sherlock thought. _“He wants his wife and child and he will never see me again.”_

Sherlock prepared his heart as best he could.

“Sherlock come see your god-daughter.” John gushed. Sherlock took as step closer. Everything seemed to have slowed down. Like one’s perception just before a horrendous crash. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Sherlock couldn’t answer John. He gazed at the baby then up at John’s smiling face. He looked over at Mary who was still sitting in the bed. She too was smiling.

“She is lovely, John.” Sherlock said calmly. He needed to leave. He had to escape before his emotions took hold and he made of fool of himself. He needed to flee before he threw himself at John’s feet and begged him to stay with Sherlock. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t listen to John reject him. Better to leave and not listen. “Well, I’m glad to see that you and Mary have reconciled. It is for the better.”

Sherlock paused for moment then went to leave. John reached out and grabbed his arm and held him tight.

“What?” John asked. “Don’t you want to hold her?”

Sherlock blinked and seemed lost for a moment. “I . . . I . . . no, that would be unnecessary, John. The ferry will be leaving shortly . . . I should . . .”

“You should shut it, berk. I want you here with us. Mary and I agreed to raise Rosemond together but not as husband and wife. I’m not leaving you and I won’t let you leave me.” John quickly assessed what was going through the genius mind.

Dumbfounded, Sherlock stood and stared at John.

“Did you hear me, Sherlock?” John asked pointedly.

Sherlock glanced over at Mary who was smiling at him. She nodded his head.

“Honestly?” Sherlock asked the woman.

“Yes, Sherlock. I’m coming back to London and John and I are going to be parents together, just no longer married. He wants you and I want the two of you happy. It will be fine. We’ll make it fine.”

Sherlock looked back and forth between the two people then smiled.

“Her? You doubt me but you’ll listen to her?” John tried to sound frustrated but his smile belayed the emotion.

“John?” Sherlock breathed. “Please, may I hold my god-daughter?”

John smiled and carefully handed the child over to the detective.

“Now, always support her head.” John said as he guided Sherlock to cradle the baby correctly.

“I know . . . I’ve been reading up on proper child care.”

John paused and looked up at his friend. “You have?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then you knew Mary would come back?”

“Of course I did.” Sherlock lied convincingly.

“No you didn’t.” John cocked his head slightly to the side.

“Who in their right mind could ever leave you, John Watson?”

~Q~

Bond woke with a splitting headache and throbbing in his shoulder and arm. He shifted in the bed and his left leg began to hurt too. He sighed heavily and wondered if he could talk the doctors out of some morphine quickly.

“Finally, I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to wake up.”

As happy as Bond was to hear that sharp diction and round vowels, now was not the time to wake next to Q. Slowly he opened his eyes and glanced around the room. As he feared, he was in Medical at MI6. Apparently, Watson had called them or Mycroft Holmes had incepted the call and got them there before the civilian ambulance arrived.

Bond looked down at his bandaged right shoulder and arm. His left thigh was also bandaged and tubes were presently running into his chest. He glance up to see the two IV bags hanging on the pole next to his bed. To his dismay, one was labeled morphine. Obviously, he was not getting a high enough dosage. That was going to have to change and quickly.

Finally his eyes landed on the source of his wake up call. Q was sitting quietly in a chair near his left hand. He was wearing clothes that fit him and Bond had never seen before. The young man was smiling and looking right at Bond. Q stood and held a straw to James’ lips. The blonde took a sip of the cool water and then closed his eyes. Resting his head back into the pillows.

“How long have I been out of it?” James asked.

“Renard broke into your flat on the twenty-third. It’s Boxing Day today. You’ve been unconscious since they brought you in, only showed signs of waking up this morning. Tanner came and got me when the doctors said it would be any time now.”

“So you haven’t been waiting by my bedside?” James tried to flirt but he was too weak to really make it work.

Q let a small secret smile glide across his lips.

“I may or may not have snuck out of my holding cell and come up here to check on you. M has agreed I’m very valuable to MI6. I’m allowed to leave my cell and I have started working while supervised. They put a computer tracker on my ankle and I must stay within the building but so far so good. We found the mole by the way. A bloody accountant.”

James winced at the idea he was presently in agony because of a bean counter. Q continued.

“He was tracking your movements based on expenditure and requests of money. It was quite elegant actually. Tanner has tasked me with coming up with a new program for accounting where money can be accessed without exposing where or for whom it is going but to still prevent waste. It is a good project.” Q noticed James’ eyes seemed to glaze over. He laughed softly. “Boring, I know. But it’s a start. I finally met Boothroyd. I don’t know if he likes me but you must be his nemesis.”

“Why would you say that?” James asked with a smug expression on his lips.

“He regales me with stories everyday about tech you have damaged, lost or simply blew up. I really liked the story about the remote controlled car you drove over a five story carpark.”

“Well, there was a good reason.”

“I doubt it.”

James looked into Q’s open and expectant gaze. “So it sounds like you’ve convinced them to not put you in prison. Does that mean you will be sticking around?”

“Most probably.”

“Do you think you could get up here and lay down beside me?” James asked as casually as he could. Q raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“I miss your body next to mine. I liked feeling the warmth off you and the scent in your hair.”

Q watched James for a moment then sighed. “I believe the doctors would frown upon that.”

“Bugger them. Get up here.”

Q stood and lowered the rails on the side of the bed. James lifted his left arm and Q slipped into the man’s grasp.

“This is completely irresponsible you know.”

James just hummed. Dipping his head to rest his chin in the top of Q’s curls. “Have you seen your family?” James left arm encircled Q’s shoulders and pulled him closer.

“My parents came here yesterday. Mycroft told them I was back and M arranged for them to see me. My mother kept crying and holding me. My father . . .” Emotion caught Q’s voice. “My father looked frail. I’m worried about him.”

“Did Mycroft or Sherlock come too?”

“No, I haven’t seen them since M granted me partial release. I don’t know if they are choosing to stay away or M is preventing them from seeing me. My mother said Mycroft is working on my pardon.”

“If you are pardoned are you going to stay?” James asked wondering how he could hold the young man in London if he wanted to flee again.

“I don’t know. London is safer for me than anywhere else in the world, but I’m not sure I’m welcomed here.”

James rubbed his cheek against the top of Q’s head. “I would welcome you here. I’m sure M would be very pleased if you chose to stay and work for her.”

“And what, move in with Mycroft? Go off and live with Sherlock and his experiments. No thanks. I have no money any more. I nowhere to live or any way to find someplace.”

“I have a flat.” James said softly.

Q didn’t answer James. The two men laid side by side silently for several seconds.

“I’m rarely there and it is more than big enough for two people. I have a guest room. Bed and wardrobe. It even has its own bathroom. We wouldn’t have to share anything.” James couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“Oh, you’re just offering me a place to stay while I get my feet under me.” Q shifted as he tried to sit up.

James tightened his grip and pulled Q back down on his chest.

“No, I’m . . . I’m not sure what I’m offering, Q. I know what I would like. I think I know what you would like but after the hell you’ve endured over the last ten years I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want.” James said exasperated.

Q suddenly got very still in James arms. “And if I don’t know what I want?”

“It’s just a place to start.”

Q smiled. “Wouldn’t you miss the warmth of my body next to yours if I slept in the other bedroom?” Q twisted to look up into James’ face.

“I would.” James kissed Q’s forehead.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?”

The next kiss was on warm dry lips.

The nurse at the station outside the room noticed a sudden rise in 007’s respiration and heart rate on the monitors. But before she could rise from her chair and check on her patient, Tanner had called her. The Chief of Staff told her not to worry about 007. He informed the woman he had the camera in the hospital room on and he was checking up on the man. Everything was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the story. Thanks for all the wonderful comments.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcomes and enjoyed.


End file.
